Whumptober 2018
by elbcw
Summary: A collection of short stories and one shots following prompts for 'Whumptober.'
1. Stabbed

**Authors note: I've not tried one of these challenges before. There follows my stories for the 'whumptober' challenge that I found on tumblr. I will note at the start of each chapter who the whumpee is and in brackets who else is in the story. It will be a mixture of short stories and vignettes. Some will be open-ended for possible use in full stories later on. I hope you enjoy them.**

Chapter One - Stabbed

 **Porthos (D'Artagnan, Athos and Aramis - all briefly)**

He reached up and pulled his bandana from his head. Porthos wondered if he should never leave the garrison without wearing the square of cloth. The number of times it ended up employed as a makeshift bandage for one of them were innumerable.

This time he was using it himself and on himself, which was unusual. Generally, when he was injured one of his brothers would be tending to him. But not this time. This time he was on his own.

His brothers were not there.

It was just him, and four bodies. The men he had killed in quick succession had been fair fighters. Not to his standards, he had not entertained the thought that he might not win, at least not at the start. The affray had not been as easy as it could have been. After taking out two of the men one of the better swordsmen had managed to catch him unaware and thrust his main gauche into Porthos' leg.

Knowing that he was injured Porthos had focused all his energy in overpowering the last two men. It had been difficult, but he knew he would manage it. He could not lose.

But as the man who had stabbed him had stumbled backwards clutching at the reciprocal main gauche thrust into his chest, Porthos had been unable to stop himself from sinking to the ground.

Knowing there was a strong possibility of passing out Porthos worked quickly. He wrapped the bandana around his leg, tying it firmly. He doubted the bandage would stop the blood, but it would help. Pressure from his own hand would have to act as a backup for as long as he could maintain it.

He knew the next part was going to be the hardest. He had to wait. His brothers would come for him, but he did not know how long it would take them.

Porthos looked about and saw a comfortable looking tree a few yards away. With an undignified slow shuffle, the wounded man moved to lean on the tree. He sighed, at least he would be relatively comfortable.

When they came, thought Porthos, he knew exactly how each man would react. Despite the pain, he was in and the increasing struggle he was having to remain awake Porthos chuckled.

Aramis would fuss about checking the wound, wanting to clean it and if he could not stitch it immediately dress it properly. His friend would talk to him all the time, Porthos knew it was Aramis' way of keeping his patient calm, but he also wondered if it helped to keep the medic calm as well. Caring for his friends in such a manner occasionally took its toll on Aramis, but he rarely let it show.

D'Artagnan would, after an initial check on Porthos' wellbeing, search the area, set up a perimeter to patrol and search the bodies for any information they might have on them. The young Musketeer would keep close enough in case he was needed but be watching the area carefully. He would ensure Aramis could work unhindered and that no further harm would come to Porthos.

Athos, however, would berate him. Porthos knew he would be in for a dressing down. He had gone off on his own after all. Their leader would want to know what made Porthos decide he could deal with the men on his own. Aramis and d'Artagnan would tell Athos not to be too harsh. And then Athos would glare at Porthos for a few seconds before shaking his head with a smile.

Porthos closed his eyes for a few seconds. At least he thought it was a few seconds. When he opened them again it was dusk. He realised he must have passed out. Looking at his leg he saw the bandana was soaked through with his blood. If his brothers did not arrive soon they would not have a friend to stitch up or protect or berate.

He started to close his eyes again before something brought him back to alertness for a few seconds, it was the sound that had woken him in the first place. A most welcome sound.

Looking up, he saw them. The three of them. Their expressions each confirming what Porthos had already concluded. Porthos could tell Aramis was assessing his wellbeing before he had even leapt from his horse. D'Artagnan was scanning the area carefully for any further threat. And Athos had a look somewhere between concern and annoyance.

Porthos knew that he was safe, he welcomed the reactions of his brothers and loved them each for those reactions.

The End

Authors note: There will be a sort of sequel/follow up to this one later on in the month...


	2. Bloody Hands

Chapter Two - Bloody Hands

 **Unknown victim, but thoughts from Aramis' perspective**

He stood by the side of the bed where his unconscious brother lay. The hustle and noise of a few minutes ago had abated. The others had left the room, the horses still needed to be tended to, a report needed to be made to Treville. Aramis could cope watching their brother alone for a while.

Aramis glanced at the mess they had made dealing with the injury. There was blood on the floor of the infirmary where it had dripped off the table as he had worked, stitching as quickly as he could. Had his brother already lost too much blood? Aramis hoped not, he prayed he had been quick enough.

Discarded, bloody cloths littered the ground, the water, stained red, sat on the table. His own medical bag was still on the table waiting for him to tidy it away and put it back where it belonged, where he knew to find it. Where he frequently had to retrieve it from.

Aramis lifted his hands and looked at them. His brother's blood covered them both. There had been times when each of his brothers had bled on him. There had been times when he had bled on himself as he uncomfortably dealt with his own injuries.

His hands, which he noted were shaking slightly, were what made the difference between life and death on occasion. He knew that a doctor could have been called to deal with the injury this time, but he had been there, the wound needed to be dealt with quickly and he had done what he had to do.

How many times had he been the one that had wielded the needle or set the broken bone? How many times had he been the one to inflict pain in order to save one of them?

He looked to the skies, which he knew, outside the infirmary, were now inky black, the night had overtaken them as they had carried their brother back to the garrison and into the infirmary. Aramis closed his eyes for a few seconds and recited a prayer. A thanks to God that he could help his friends and continue to do so.

He looked back at his hands and noticed they had stopped shaking. The energy he had enjoyed as he worked was fading from him and the reality was sinking in. The possibilities were beginning to make themselves known.

What if they had been too late? What if he had not been quick enough to stem the blood flow?

What if…

The sound of someone approaching stopped the whirling thoughts. There was no time for 'What if's'. His brother would be fine, he would need some time, but he would recover.

Aramis looked up as Treville entered the room. The Captain crossed the infirmary, he reached up and squeezed Aramis' arm for a few seconds before stepping away and pulling a chair up to the bed beside the unconscious man.

'You've done all that you can, son,' said Treville with a slight smile, 'go and get yourself cleaned up. I'll sit with him for a while. He'll still be here when you get back.'

Aramis hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly and turning away from his brother. He did not look back, confident that his brother was in safe hands with their Captain. They were all safe in each other's hands. For which Aramis was thankful.

The End.


	3. Insomnia

Chapter Three - Insomnia

 **Treville**

They were late back. They were hours late back. They should have been back mid-afternoon and it was now nearly midnight. The other men had disappeared hours earlier, unaware that four of their own were missing. The other men had gone out into the city or retired to their rooms. The unlucky ones had headed for the Palace to relieve others whose turn at guard and patrol duty was done. Two men stood at the garrison gate. Their duty merely to prevent unwelcome visitors from entering.

But for Treville, there was no rest. For Treville there was no possibility of sleep. He was wide awake, he knew, just knew that there was something wrong.

Why were they so late back?

The mission, a secret one, one that he would only have trusted to his four best, was relatively simple. But the possibility of an attack was always there.

If they did not return soon, Treville would be forced to send out a search, forced to send other men into danger.

Treville could not rest, could not sleep. He paced. He started off pacing up and down outside his room, but the creek of the wood underfoot was loud in the stillness of the night. He did not want to alert the men who were sleeping in the garrison that something was wrong. His men, like him, were intuitive and a restless Musketeer Captain was a sure sign that something was wrong.

Treville had quietly descended the stairs and begun to pace around his garrison yard.

He looked at the table that they often congregated around before he ushered them out to work for their keep.

He looked at the stables where he had on occasion found d'Artagnan brushing the horses down, a hang up from his farming days, Treville was convinced the young man had moments of homesickness and found the action calming.

He looked at the armoury where he often found Athos checking that all was in place and Aramis occasionally cleaning guns unnecessarily.

He looked at the mess and smiled at the thought of Porthos harassing Serge for extra helpings of food.

Treville wanted to see his men in their respective places again. Wanted to watch Porthos beating another Musketeer in a friendly brawl, see Aramis showing off his sharpshooting skills, and applaud Athos and d'Artagnan as they sparred with increasing force until one of the others had to remind them they were on the same side.

Treville wanted to see them all wandering off out of the garrison together to get up to mischief in the city.

Treville sighed, he hoped, he prayed, he would see all those things again. He felt like a father, he felt like a mother to these men. He sent them off on missions and then worried continually about them.

He paced. The walking was not helping to tire him. He knew he would not sleep that night, not until they were back.

Treville found himself outside the infirmary door, he pushed it open and walked into the empty room. He rarely entered the room when it was unoccupied. He hoped it would remain so but somehow doubted it.

Without thinking he began to prepare the room for his men's return. He knew they would return, but he did not know what state they would be in. He readied bowls of water and cloths. He found bandages and the tools that would be needed to remove a musket ball. He knew that Aramis had his own medical equipment, but if he was the one that needed treating…

He made up four beds. He looked at them and tried not to imagine any of his men lying on them.

The room ready he returned to the yard and paced again. It was gone midnight. He was still not tired.

A muttered curse and soft hiss of pain followed by a quiet admonishment drew his attention to the garrison gate.

His men had returned, Treville breathed a sigh of relief.

The worry about his missing men was now replaced by the worry about what state they were in.

Treville would not sleep that night.

The End.


	4. No, stop'

Chapter Four - 'No, stop!'

 **Porthos (with Aramis)**

'No, stop!'

The man looked up; Aramis rushed forward.

'Get away from him,' he said as he pushed the man back.

'I was just helping,' replied the bewildered man.

'You were about to make it worse,' snapped Aramis, without looking up.

Aramis had his attention firmly on Porthos who was watching the exchange between his friend and the stall holder.

'Aramis,' said Porthos quietly, 'he didn't mean...any harm.'

Aramis looked at him for a few seconds before realising what Porthos meant. The stall holder had been about to move Porthos, had been about to straighten his arm which was clearly dislocated at the shoulder. But the stall holder would not have known that. Porthos was right, the man was only trying to help.

'Sorry,' said Aramis to the man, 'I just didn't want you to hurt him any more than he already is.'

The stall holder who had been looking quite annoyed, smiled, 'that's alright,' he said, 'it's a good job you were nearby then. Perhaps I could still help, without making it worse?'

Aramis looked at the man for a few seconds before returning the smile.

'Thank you, yes.'

Between them they pulled the injured man to his feet, Porthos cradled his dislocated arm across himself.

'How did you manage this anyway?' asked Aramis.

The stall holder replied before Porthos could speak, 'he was helping me. A couple of men stole from my stall-'

Porthos spoke at the same time as the man, 'no, stop,' but he was too late.

'-he was chasing after them-'

Porthos looked at the ground trying to hide his embarrassment.

'-when he slipped.'

There was a slight pause before Aramis responded. Porthos decided he wished the stall holder had moved his arm and caused him pain, he might have passed out and been spared what was about to happen.

'You slipped?' asked Aramis barely able to hide a smirk.

Porthos rolled his eyes and glanced at the stall holder, 'I'm not going to hear the end of this.'

The stall holder looked at Porthos with pity, 'sorry,' he said, 'I think I'll stop now, before I make it any worse.'

The End.


	5. Poisoned

Chapter Five - Poisoned

 **D'Artagnan (with Athos, Porthos and Aramis).**

The noises stopped as soon as they had started. The four Musketeers who had curiously moved to the edge of the clearing to try to work out what had caused the noise returned to their campfire and the food that was cooking over it. Aramis wandered over to the horses as they had become a little skittish, no doubt startled by the strange noises that had disturbed them all. Athos started a slow walk around the edge of the clearing.

'Must have been animals,' said d'Artagnan as he helped himself to a bowl of the hot stew.

Porthos was still staring at the spot where they had heard the noises.

'Didn't sound like any animals I've ever heard,' he said before joining d'Artagnan.

He settled down next to d'Artagnan, who was already eating his stew.

'Not waiting for us then?' he asked with a grin.

D'Artagnan looked at him for a second before swallowing, 'you all had lunch, I've not eaten since breakfast.'

Porthos chuckled as he watched the younger man hungrily wolf down his dinner. He glanced across to Aramis and Athos as they wandered back to the fire.

'I cannot see anything untoward,' said Athos as he sat down.

Porthos spooned some of the stew into a bowl and sat back, he sniffed at the food, enjoying the aroma for a moment, he dipped his spoon into the bowl.

When the bowl was knocked from his hand with no warning, spilling the contents onto the ground Porthos looked at d'Artagnan unable to hide his anger. The anger quickly changed to concern when he saw the look on d'Artagnan's face.

'It's…' d'Artagnan was blinking and holding his stomach, 'wrong...bad…'

'D'Artagnan,' said Porthos reaching a hand up to steady the now shaking man.

'Poison…'

'What?' Aramis was on the other side of the younger man looking at him with concern. 'How can you tell?'

But d'Artagnan was taking short, panted breaths, his eyes shut.

'It must have been when we had our backs turned,' said Athos who had scrambled back up to stand, his gun drawn.

The Musketeer immediately started scanning their surroundings carefully, searching for whoever had caused harm to his brother.

'We need to get him to throw up, he needs an emetic,' said Aramis as he hurried over to his saddlebag and started to rummage through it.

D'Artagnan was leaning forward, Porthos grabbed him around the shoulders and steadied him. He did not know what else to do. He felt helpless. There was no wound to clean and dress, an injury he could deal with; this was totally beyond him.

Aramis returned with a small bag of ground-up powder which he tipped into a cup before adding water to it and swilling the liquid around.

'D'Artagnan,' said Aramis, lifting the younger man's face up to look at him in an attempt to get his attention.

The breathless man stared at him, fear in his eyes.

'You need to drink this, drink it all. Porthos, hold onto him, this will taste horrible he won't want to drink.'

Porthos did as he was told grabbing his brother tightly, pinning his arms to his sides, holding him firmly. Aramis held the cup to d'Artagnan's lips and tipped it. D'Artagnan tried to turn away.

'You have to drink it,' said Aramis firmly before grabbing d'Artagnan and forcing him to drink from the cup.

The Musketeer spluttered a few times but did swallow what Porthos guessed was a foul tasting concoction. Porthos struggled to hold d'Artagnan still, he talked to him, trying to calm him. D'Artagnan had become confused as Aramis continued to administer the emetic. Once he had forced the last of the liquid into their struggling brother Aramis discarded the cup and guided d'Artagnan to lean forward. Porthos shifted his position, keeping hold of him.

The effect of the medication was quick. D'Artagnan retched and began to throw up the contents of his stomach within a few seconds. Porthos continued to hold his brother as the cure took its toll.

'I'm sorry,' said Aramis quietly as he watched unable to do anything further to ease the man's discomfort.

The retching lasted for a few minutes, it was evident that d'Artagnan had nothing left to throw up which seemed to make it more uncomfortable for him. When he finally stopped he was panting hard. Porthos pulled the suffering man away from the consequence of his actions which Aramis washed away with water.

D'Artagnan had become weakened by the events and allowed Porthos to lay him down on his bedroll. Aramis helped Porthos to manoeuvre their brother to lie on his side.

'He should be more comfortable like that,' said Aramis, 'and there's less chance of him choking if he's sick again. But one of us should keep an eye on him.'

Porthos nodded before pulling a blanket from d'Artagnan's bag and spreading it over the exhausted man.

Athos, who had taken several slow turns around their camp as Aramis and Porthos had helped d'Artagnan wandered back.

'I cannot see anyone. I can only guess they did not want to stay and see the consequences of their actions. It is odd. When can he be moved?'

Aramis looked up at Athos, 'I doubt it will be long before he's recovered enough to at least ride with one of us. We can only hope making him sick is enough to rid his body of whatever the poison was.'

'Who would do such a thing? If we'd all eaten at the same time we could all have died,' said Porthos.

'Someone has obviously taken a disliking to us being here,' replied Athos. 'We will break camp as soon as we can.'

Porthos looked back down at d'Artagnan who was more or less breathing normally again.

'Sorry,' he said looking back up his brothers.

'You've got nothing to be sorry about, you saved us. You stopped me from getting ill as well,' said Porthos laying his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

'Rest for a while,' said Aramis.

It was not long before d'Artagnan closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.

The End.


	6. Betrayed

Chapter Six - Betrayed

 **Athos**

Athos was going to find his contact and kill him. This was not how he had expected the evening to go. Ruiz had told him that there would be two men at the meeting point, passing the vital documents between them. Two men, Athos could have handled. Two men were not an issue for a swordsman of his ability. But six. Six was quite a few men to find himself having to deal with.

He had quickly taken out one of the men with his gun, before using the spent weapon as a club on a second man, who was down but not out.

That left him with four enemy combatants and one who would return once he had pulled himself up and wiped the blood from his eyes.

Concentrating on the four Athos knew he had to thin them out a bit. He could not take them all on at once, not in the open. He backed up towards an alleyway. The alleyway was wide enough for him to swing a sword comfortably but not for all four of his opponents. There was no quick way for them to get behind him, so they would have to come at him individually, or possibly in pairs. Athos hoped for the former but would deal with the latter if he had to.

The first man, of similar build and height to himself advanced. Athos swung his sword and forced the man back a couple of paces. This man was trained, thought Athos as he dodged a well-aimed thrust. Athos feinted to the left before stepping into the man and bodily pushing him back, hooking his foot behind the man's ankle as he did so, sending him sprawling to the cobbled ground.

Two more men stepped over the first and rushed forward. Man number two was skinny, Athos guessed it would not take much to knock him down, man number three was the opposite, a stocky short man, but his movements were slow. Athos parried the first poor attempt to impale him, made by the third man, before slicing his sword across the man's side decisively. The move left Athos with four men to fight.

The skinny second man was not alone for long. The first man had scrambled to his feet.

Athos was tiring. He hated to admit to any fallibility on his own part, but every man had his limits. He was fighting six men, Athos knew he would not come out unscathed.

The better swordsman looked annoyed that Athos had got him on the ground and attacked with a renewed vigour. The two men were soon locked in a fierce battle exchanging sword blows with bruising precision. Athos had his work cut out dealing with the man.

He wondered if his contact had been planning to set him up from the start? Was this some grand plan to kill him? He dismissed the thought, he was not that important, and an assassin could have taken him out with a gun at any number of moments since he had met the informant. No, the contact had probably just been paid more by these men.

His musing were cut short by the swordsman in front of him making a mistake, Athos plunged his sword into the man stomach, using his foot to push the man down. There was no time to tarry, he had three more men to deal with.

The skinny man looked terrified, but he was soon joined by a tall broad man who would not look out of place brawling for money in a tavern. In fact, Athos wondered if he recognised the man as one of the few that had been able to beat Porthos over the years. Athos pushed the thought away as the big man advanced.

A dangerous ploy formed in his mind. He hated to do it, but he would have to think differently against this opponent. His bigger sword would be harder to parry. But the skinny man, he was a poor fighter, Athos would use that to his advantage, despite the consequence to himself.

He allowed the skinny man to get closer, dodging the big man several times, ducking down and jumping to the side. He bided his time until he had the skinny man where he wanted him. As the big man raised his sword for another bruising blow Athos sidestepped towards the skinny man who enjoyed the sudden opening to make contact with his sword.

The skinny man's enjoyment of drawing blood from Athos was short lived as the big, brutish man's sword swing could not be stopped in time to prevent him from slicing deeply into the skinny man's neck. The man crumpled to the floor. The brute stared at the skinny man, the shock at what he had done, or rather been manipulated into doing caused him to pause. His pause proved fatal.

Wrenching his main gauche from his belt Athos stepped forward and thrust the sword into the man's chest, making sure the blade slipped between ribs and embedded itself deeply into his lungs.

Athos stumbled back a couple of paces panting. How many had he dealt with? He looked along the alleyway counting the bodies that littered the ground, his eyes coming to rest on the sixth man, the man he had hit with his spent gun.

The man stared at him for a few seconds, his sword held firmly in his right hand. Athos knew the cut to his arm was deep and bleeding freely. Athos was in no state to continue to fight another man. He could probably hold the man off for a few seconds but he was exhausted and bleeding badly. This sixth man might be his undoing.

Athos raised his sword, if he was going to die, he would die fighting.

The End.


	7. Kidnapped

Chapter Seven - Kidnapped

 **Constance and d'Artagnan (with Athos, Porthos and Aramis). This is set in Series Three somewhere.**

D'Artagnan ran hard, he knew he had to get help, he could not deal with the situation on his own. Constance's life and the Queen's reputation depended on it. He hurtled into the garrison skidding to a stop in front of a surprised Aramis who recovered his wits just in time to grab the panting man.

Pushing d'Artagnan to arm's length Aramis looked at him quizzically.

'...Constance...taken…' d'Artagnan managed to say, wishing he could calm his breathing enough to tell his friends what he needed to.

He saw Aramis glance across to Porthos and Athos who had walked over, obviously worried about d'Artagnan. The young man made a concerted effort to slow his breathing and regain his composure.

Aramis steered him towards the bench and sat him down, crouching in front of him and checking him for injuries.

'What happened to you? Are you injured?' asked Aramis.

D'Artagnan pushed Aramis' hands away. He was bruised from the fight but not injured. He took a few breaths before relaying to his brothers what had happened.

'I was walking with Constance towards the Palace to visit the Queen. We were only a couple of streets away...we'd stopped for a second…'

He looked at the three Musketeers in front of him, Aramis gave him a knowing smile, Porthos chuckled and Athos shook his head slightly, they knew why d'Artagnan and Constance had stopped for a second.

'I was...distracted for a moment. Four men grabbed us. I was pinned to a wall...I'm sorry I couldn't…'

'Don't worry about that at the moment,' said Aramis calmly.

'They picked Constance up, she fought them, scratched one of them across the face, he slapped her.'

D'Artagnan shuddered as the memory. He had felt so helpless as the man who slapped Constance making the most of her momentary stunned distraction to throw her over his shoulder and start to walk towards a dusty carriage. The men who had d'Artagnan pinned to the wall punched him in the back a couple of times, before pulling him from the wall and hitting him hard across the face. As they let him go, he slumped to the ground.

'All I could do was watch as they took her,' d'Artagnan said quietly after relating what had happened.

'What do they want with Constance?' asked Porthos.

D'Artagnan reached into his doublet and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, he handed it to Athos who unfolded it and read it.

'What does it say?' asked Aramis.

'They want money for Constance's safe return and to stop them from spreading some rumour about the Queen,' said d'Artagnan glancing at Aramis for a second before looking away.

Aramis straightened up, 'what kind of rumours?'

'I don't know, they didn't say,' replied d'Artagnan knowing what Aramis was alluding to.

They did not want any more trouble regarding Aramis' illicit liaison with the Queen.

'It says they want jewels to secure their silence and Constance's release. There is an address and time for the handover,' said Athos who had read the note twice as his brothers talked.

'Where are we going to get jewels from?' asked Porthos.

'I can think of someone who will help us,' said Aramis.

MMMM

Aramis now had a habit of keeping to the back of the group whenever they visited the Palace. He may have been cleared of the charges against him, but it was not worth the risk to have his presence noticed too much. He steered clear of the King as much as possible and was careful not to be seen with or near the Queen very often. But in this instance, where one of the Queen's friends was in danger and her reputation was on the line he was prepared to take the risk.

They had managed to gain entry to her apartments with relative ease but were now stuck trying to get an audience. The lady in waiting was insisting that her Majesty was not available. Aramis rolled his eyes. He was about to step forward and talk to the woman himself when a door beyond the lady in waiting opened.

The Queen stood in the doorway, she looked at the concerned faces of the King's Musketeers. She made eye contact with Aramis, he knew he must have conveyed something to her as she nodded imperceptibly before she spoke.

'Clare,' she said, causing the lady to turn to her, 'if these Musketeers need to see me they shall.'

'But Majesty...' began the lady in waiting.

'I will be perfectly safe with them, you may wait in my sitting room with the other ladies I will join you shortly.'

Clare bowed before turning, she eyed each of them suspiciously as she walked passed, disappearing into the next room.

The Queen stood aside from the door. The Musketeers filed passed her, each bowing respectfully as they did so. Aramis could not help lingering with his eye contact with her as he entered the impressive room.

'D'Artagnan,' said the Queen, 'you appear to have been attacked, are you injured?'

'No, Ma'am,' replied the young Musketeer, 'but that is why we are here.'

Athos took a step forward and related what had happened, allowing d'Artagnan to fill in gaps where necessary.

'Do you think Constance was hurt when they took her?'

Aramis admired her for worrying about others before herself. Any further tarnish to her reputation could leave her alone within her already small circle of friends. He looked down, not wishing for her to see the worry that he was carrying on his face. When she stepped up to him he looked up again, holding her gaze.

'My reputation is insignificant, there are more people who despise me than love me. Another rumour will not harm me further,' she said with a smile. 'I am far more concerned with Constance's welfare.'

Aramis glanced at Athos who indicated that he should take a step back, away from the Queen. The Queen looked around and saw Athos' make the move.

'There is no one here to see us together, Athos, I think Aramis...and I, are safe,' she smiled as she spoke before turning from them and walking to a desk by one of the windows, she opened a drawer and pulled out a box, which she opened. She searched through the box for a few seconds before pulling out a jewelled necklace. She held it up to the light and looked at it for a few seconds watching the sunlight catch the stones.

'These are valuable, but I cannot imagine Louis will know I have them...he will not demand that I wear them at any point,' she handed the necklace to d'Artagnan who nodded.

'Use them to get Constance back...she is what matters. I hate to think that she has been used in some misguided attempt to discredit me...when I have little left to lose as far as my reputation is concerned.'

She was struggling to hide her worry for her friend, Aramis could not help himself he took a few steps forward, 'we will rescue Constance, and ensure that these men do not spread any rumours about you.'

The Queen looked at him and after a glance at Athos, reached forward and took his hands in hers, 'I know you will...but Constance is more important.'

'Thank you, Majesty,' said d'Artagnan.

'And try not to get yourselves hurt in the process,' she said looking at each of them in turn. 'Remember that Constance is a capable woman, she may not accept that she is in as much danger as she probably is.'

MMMM

Constance was angry. Constance was worried. Constance was angry and worried. Angry that these men thought it was alright to kidnap people off the streets and worried about what had happened to her husband. She had caught a glimpse of the men who had pushed him into the wall beating him as she struggled against her own attacker. They had bundled her into the dirty carriage very roughly, but she had managed to sit up enough to see d'Artagnan collapse to the ground as the two men who had been beating him let him go and ran to grab onto the back of the carriage.

She had given the men a stern talking to, which had earned her another slap. Her cheek now stung, and she suspected she would be bruised. The man that had slapped her the first time had held back a little, she was sure of it, but the second man had not. He had hit her hard enough to make her stumble a few steps, she had reached up and touched her cheek, shocked at the treatment. The first man had grabbed her and pulled her arms behind her and snapped a set of manacles around her wrists.

The men had told her if she behaved they would give her some water and allow her to sit in a chair. She had told the men exactly what she thought of them.

She had no idea what they wanted from her. But she suspected that she was being used as a means to an end. The fact that d'Artagnan had not been killed when they had taken her made her believe she was being held to ransom. But who would pay for her release? D'Artagnan had no money, their friends did not have much. She doubted the men who had taken her knew that Athos and Porthos were of noble stock and might have money. Who would the men demand money from?

After she had spent some time berating the men one of them had grabbed a rag and gagged her. She had mumbled curses at the man as he tied the gag tightly around her head. The man had pushed her back a few paces and forced her to sit down, leaning against the dirty stone wall. Her dress was torn and filthy from her treatment. She spent some time glaring at the men before they lost interest and started playing cards at a small table a few yards from her. They barely looked at her.

Constance was more than happy to be ignored. When she had felt her cheek after the second slap she had slipped one of her earrings out and concealed it in her palm just before she was restrained.

She thought back to one of the calm quiet times she had enjoyed at the garrison. Nothing of significance was happening, the cadets had been taken off by d'Artagnan and Aramis on a training exercise, Athos had disappeared, probably to see Sylvie, although he would have not admitted to it, and Porthos was sat cleaning weapons at the table in the yard.

Constance had settled next to him and started to clean a couple of the guns. They had struck up a conversation about Porthos' younger days, he had told her about an incident when he had been grabbed by some Red Guard and accused of stealing. He had been manacled and was being forced to walk to the Chatelet. Porthos had been fortunate as his friends caused a distraction, during which he had picked the lock on the manacles and managed to disappear into the crowd of Parisians who had stopped to watch the fight.

Porthos had told her it was a useful ability, being able to pick a lock had helped him and his brothers out several times. She had asked him to show her. They had spent a happy afternoon, sat in the sun, she had enjoyed watching Porthos' enthusiasm for his subject. By the time the cadets had returned she had learnt to pick locks on manacles and was well on her way to becoming accomplished at door locks as well.

Constance smiled to herself as she worked on the simple lock that was being used to hold her prisoner. She was not sure what she would do once she had undone the manacles. She knew she was no match for the four men across from her, she would have to pick her moment carefully, but if she was not restrained she would be more useful in any rescue.

And she was sure there would be a rescue.

MMMM

Porthos watched both d'Artagnan and Aramis carefully. D'Artagnan was worried about his wife and might not think before he acted, and Aramis was worried about the Queen, and likewise might not think. The situation was not ideal. They had dealt with a few kidnappings over the years but never one that affected their little group quite as much.

They reached the rendezvous without incident. A quiet road between two storage buildings, wide enough for a carriage. The carriage in question really had seen better days. D'Artagnan had not been able to describe it very well, he had only said that it was old and dirty. The shabby curtains over the windows told Porthos that the carriage had probably been owned by a nobleman. The insignia on the door had worn away over the years. The carriage had not been maintained well.

Three men were stood in front of the carriage spread across the road, their weapons drawn, but held loosely at their sides. The Musketeers walked forwards stopping a few yards from the men.

'What 'ave you got for us then?' said one of the men with a sneer.

'We need to see the woman you have taken first,' said Athos.

D'Artagnan was ready to leap forward, Porthos could feel the anger coming from the younger man.

The man who appeared to be in charge turned and nodded in the direction of the carriage. The door was pushed open and a man backed out, he was struggling to stay upright as his burden was not cooperating. Constance was manhandled onto the street. He arms were restrained, Porthos could not work out what with, and she was gagged. A couple of bruises marked her face, her hair was unkempt. Her dress which rarely had a mark on it was dirty and ripped in a couple of places. Porthos guessed she had not been a compliant captive, he hid a grin. Constance was formidable.

Once the man had managed to get her under control he turned her to face the Musketeers. Her eyes going wide when she saw d'Artagnan who had taken a step forward. Aramis had wrapped his hand around the Musketeer's wrist to stop his movement. D'Artagnan nodded.

Porthos' attention returned to the men and Constance, he realised the Constance was staring at him rather than d'Artagnan. He furrowed his brow realising the young woman was trying to tell him something, but he could not work out what.

'She's fine,' said the ringleader, 'we'll be glad to get shot of her. What 'ave you got?'

Athos nodded to d'Artagnan who was finally allowed to walk forward, he was holding a small silk bag. He kept his hands out, away from his weapons as he walked, stopping a few feet from the man. He slowly tipped the contents of the bag into his gloved hand, the jewels glistening in the early evening sun. He held his hand forward so that the men could see the jewelled necklace properly. The man nodded appreciatively.

Porthos was aware of d'Artagnan's movements but he concentrated on Constance who was slightly pulling her shoulders forward and backwards. A thought occurred to Porthos as he looked at Constance and realised she was only wearing one earring. He subtly moved his hands forward, put his wrists together then pulled them apart. All the kidnappers were focused on d'Artagnan and the jewels. Constance nodded as Porthos repeated the move. Porthos realised that Constance was not actually restrained. She could play a part in her own rescue.

'Constance ain't tied up,' said Porthos quietly to Aramis and Athos.

Both men nodded but otherwise did not react.

'D'Artagnan won't know,' said Aramis.

'He will work it out soon enough,' remarked Athos.

'Ready?' asked Porthos.

Both men nodded again.

'Now!'

MMMM

Constance took her cue, slipping her hand from the manacle and swinging it around. The loose end smacking into the man who had hold of her. The rusty metal cut across the man's face, he yelped in pain, letting her go and reaching up to his face. Constance grabbed the man by the shoulders and pulled him downwards as she brought her knee up. With a satisfying crunch, Constance was fairly sure she had broken the man's nose. She pushed him away, he stumbled back knocking into the carriage before falling to his knees.

She looked up, as she pulled the gag from her mouth, the sight that greeted her was not as she had expected it. She had hoped to find her husband and her three friends fighting the men who had taken her captive. What she saw was her friends fighting and d'Artagnan clutching at his arm as he started to sink to his knees, blood seeping through his fingers. D'Artagnan had been shot in the instance that the fight had started. Constance guessed that as the only one of them that did not know they were about to enter into an affray he had been unprepared, getting caught by a ball fired by one of the three enemy combatants.

With little regard for her own safety, Constance rushed forward and grabbed d'Artagnan before he collapsed, forcing him away from the fighting men.

'What…?'

'I got free.'

'How…?'

'Porthos taught me to pick locks.'

'When…?'

'A few weeks ago, you weren't there. Now shut up and let me see to this.'

D'Artagnan had been about to speak again but closed his mouth. Constance smiled at him, she leaned forward and kissed him quickly.

'Thank you for rescuing me.'

MMMM

D'Artagnan, who knew he was a bit unsteady on his feet had insisted on accompanying his wife and his brothers back to the Palace. They knew the Queen would be anxious for news of Constance's release. Aramis had stated that Constance's ministrations to his injury were perfectly adequate for a short while, but they would need to deal with it properly as soon as they practically could.

After Constance had dragged him to the side of the street and forced him to sit down he had been vaguely aware of the others dealing with the gang. Constance had ripped her already torn dress to make a temporary bandage.

D'Artagnan had tried to check Constance for injuries but she had told him firmly to stop, and that he had come off worse. He knew when to admit defeat with his wife. As far as he could tell she had only suffered a few bruises and grazes during her ordeal.

Porthos had slipped his arm around d'Artagnan's waist when he had stumbled slightly. Both Constance and Aramis had given him a look.

'Are you ganging up on me?' d'Artagnan asked.

'Yes,' replied Constance, 'you should go with Aramis back to the garrison.'

'I'm not leaving you, when I've just got you back.'

'Men,' she said with exasperation, before leading them through the Palace towards the Queen's rooms.

The Musketeers followed the quickly disappearing woman.

'We should have left one of them alive,' said Porthos, 'they could have warned the other local villains that she's not to be messed with.'

The End.


	8. Fever

Chapter Eight - Fever

 **Treville (with the four Musketeers).**

Aramis wrung out the cloth and lay it on his Captains forehead again. The man was sweating profusely and had started to mumble a little. The fever was surely at its peak thought Aramis. He had already been sat with Treville for three hours watching as the man's illness got worse. The doctor had assured them that all the other people who had been through the fever had lived. They just had to wait it out.

'Aramis,' said Treville quietly, 'you must do something for me…'

'Anything Captain. What do you need? Water? Perhaps you can manage some broth?'

The Captain shook his head, closing his eyes as he did so in pain. Aramis guessed the man's head ached as he fought the fever.

'No, there are papers, in my drawer...you must burn them...please Aramis don't read them. When I am dead...burn them...make it the first thing you…'

'You're not dying Captain, you will recover.'

But Treville had passed out. Frowning Aramis wondered what was in the papers that he was to burn. Whatever it was, must have been damning to someone. But who?

MMMM

Athos sat forward as Treville opened his eyes and looked about himself with confusion.

'Captain,' said Athos quietly, 'you are safe, you are ill with fever…'

'Athos, you must burn the papers in the desk...don't read them, just burn them…'

The Captain had tried to sit up, grabbing Athos' hand as he did so. Athos gently eased the fevered man back down.

'What papers?'

'No, don't read them Athos, burn them. They cannot get into the wrong hands. When I am dead it will cause issues…'

Treville's voice trailed off as he fell asleep again. Athos looked at his Captain and wondered what was so important that no one could be allowed to know it. What secret was his Captain keeping from him?

MMMM

'Captain,' said Porthos, 'you need to drink some water. Aramis told me you didn't drink when he was watching you and you slept the entire time Athos was with you.'

Porthos lifted the Captain's head and held the cup to his lips. Treville sipped at the cool water.

'Well done,' said Porthos with a smile, 'you can have some more in a bit.'

'Porthos,' said Treville, focusing on the Musketeer sat at the side of his bed, 'take the key to the desk drawer when I am gone, burn the papers. Make sure there is no trace of them. They must be destroyed completely.'

'Where are you going?' asked Porthos before realising what his Captain meant, he grinned, 'you're not dying Captain.'

But Treville had drifted off to sleep again. Porthos glanced across the room at the desk, wondering what it was that needed to be destroyed without a trace. He knew the Captain kept some things from the men, it was necessary. And he knew he would not need to carry out his Captain's order for which he was glad. But he was still curious as to what was in the papers Treville was so keen to get rid of.

MMMM

'You're not dying, Captain,' said d'Artagnan after Treville had made his strange request.

The Captain looked at him for a few seconds his eyes unfocused before closing them and falling back into his fitful sleep.

Burning paperwork seemed like the wrong thing to do. Whatever was in the papers must have been important for someone, not just Treville. Why would the Captain have kept the papers himself if they were not important to someone? He was glad he would not have to do as his Captain wished. The man was still delirious, perhaps there were no papers.

D'Artagnan looked at the desk. He rose from his seat by the bed and took a few steps towards the desk. He was startled by the door being pushed open, Aramis looked at him. D'Artagnan knew he had not hidden his guilty look very well.

'Did he ask you as well?'

'Ask me what?'

Porthos appeared behind Aramis and spoke before his friend could, 'ask you to burn the papers in his desk?'

D'artagnan nodded, 'I wasn't going to, obviously.'

'And you were not about to look for them either, were you?' asked Athos who had followed Porthos into the room.

'No,' lied d'Artagnan.

Aramis grinned, 'we weren't about to look for them either,' he said, 'Athos overheard us talking about them and pulled rank.'

'Probably for the best,' said Porthos as he leaned over Treville and felt his skin.

'I think, gentlemen,' said Athos, 'that our Captain does not need to know that we have spoken to each other about this. With luck, he will not even remember talking to each of us about it.'

D'Artagnan nodded along with Aramis and Porthos.

Aramis crossed to the chair by the bed and sat down. Athos picked up the key to the desk and tucked it into his own pocket.

'I shall remove the temptation,' he said with a slight smile.

Aramis pretended to be slighted by the comment, Porthos chuckled and d'Artagnan smiled.

'With luck,' said Aramis, 'we will never need to know what is in those papers.'

The End.


	9. Stranded

Authors note: Thanks for the comments, favourites and follows.

Chapter Nine - Stranded

 **Aramis (with d'Artagnan, Athos and Porthos).**

D'Artagnan ducked down as another ball whistled passed. The others were keeping low as well. He glanced up, they were about to round a rocky outcrop, they would have a few seconds respite from the firing guns. As their pursuers were also mounted the chances of them actually being hit was slim, but it was there.

A startled yell from Aramis and the sound of horses' hooves clattering to a halt on the stony path caused d'Artagnan to pull his own horse to a stop. He looked around in time to see Aramis' horse rear up. Aramis could not stop himself being thrown from the beast's back. He landed awkwardly on the hard ground. But immediately started to struggle back up. Finding his feet Aramis stumbled forward a few paces only for his still startled horse to bolt away.

Porthos was off his horse, heading towards Aramis who seemed a little uncoordinated after his fall. Athos tried to catch the mare before she got too far away, but the horse had other ideas and was already disappearing out of sight. D'Artagnan glanced back, there was no sign of their pursuers. He guessed they were reloading before continuing, making use of the narrow ravine. The Musketeers had no choice but to follow the path, there was no other way.

'You alright?' asked Porthos as he reached out to Aramis who was still trying to steady himself.

Aramis had wrapped his right arm across himself and was obviously in pain.

'Landed badly,' he said, 'must have hit my ribs. I think it's just bruising.'

D'Artagnan saw Porthos nod his appreciation of Aramis' candour about his injuries.

'You'll ride with me,' said Porthos, glancing back along the road.

'That will not work,' said Athos, who had returned from his failed attempt to retrieve Aramis' mare. 'We cannot move slowly enough to prevent him from passing out.'

Aramis was about to protest but Athos shook his head.

'Up there,' said Porthos pointing ahead of them, 'there's a path. We'll have to go on foot, but if we get the horse to carry on they might be fooled.'

D'Artagnan looked in the direction that Porthos was pointing. A narrow ledge led up the side of the ravine. There was a rocky overhang in places and the path narrowed and widened frequently. He did not like the idea of having to move up the path at speed, but their options were limited.

'You three go, I'll hide, they'd miss me,' said Aramis who had recovered his wits.

'We are not leaving you behind, it could be hours before we could come back for you if we even managed it today,' said Athos decisively.

Athos led the way forward, Porthos followed keeping an eye on Aramis. D'Artagnan slapped each of the horses to get them to continue forward around the ravine. He hoped they would stop when they reached open land again. D'Artagnan did not like the idea of having to find their way back to Paris without the beasts. As he followed Porthos and Aramis, d'Artagnan glanced around wondering what it was that had startled Aramis' mare. The horses were usually well behaved.

Porthos had moved ahead of Aramis as they negotiated a narrower section of the pathway. Aramis was still holding his arm across himself, clutching at his ribs. He had not changed his position since he managed to get to his feet after the fall.

D'Artagnan got a little closer to his brother before asking quietly, 'are you sure you didn't hurt yourself?'

Aramis glanced back, wincing as he did so, 'I'll admit it might be more than bruising. Can't really tell yet.'

D'Artagnan smiled, hoping his expression was an encouraging one. Aramis turned back and continued along the path which had widened out enough for them to walk two abreast. Athos had just disappeared out of sight following the pathway around the ravine.

'We have to go back,' said Athos as he came to an abrupt stop. A wall of rock in front of him.

'They haven't gone passed yet,' said Porthos glancing down towards the ravine floor.

'We can head back some of the way and wait for them to pass,' said Athos as he turned back.

A shot pinged off a rock close to d'Artagnan. All four men fell to the floor. Aramis stifled a cry of pain.

Their pursuers were following them up the pathway. Porthos and Athos scrambled up, drawing their weapons. D'Artagnan was quick to follow. Aramis managed to twist himself over to sit and pulled out one of his guns with his left hand, holding it out shakily. D'Artagnan knew that even injured Aramis was still a very good shot.

They were in a standoff with their pursuers.

MMMM

Being careful not to all fire at once the Musketeers shot back at their pursuers. Athos knew they had a fair amount of ammunition on them and could hold the men off for some time. But not indefinitely.

There were at least ten men, but due to the nature of the pathway, the men could not approach their prey very easily. Athos hit the man at the front of the group who screamed and toppled to the side, falling to the ravine floor below. The walls of the ravine were not sheer but were still very steep. There was no practical way to reach the spot they were other than the pathway they were all occupying.

Another man was hit, stumbling back. Athos guessed the shot had been d'Artagnan. Aramis shot next, hitting a third man. Neither d'Artagnan's or Aramis' shots would prove fatal but would put the men out of action. Athos was pleased to see the rest of the men retreat a little, dragging their injured men with them.

Athos was not pleased when a tall, broad man paused in his retreat and reached up to tug at a protruding rock.

'They are not gonna do that?' asked Porthos, unable to hide the shock from his voice.

'I think they are,' said Aramis from his place sat in front of Athos.

The big man worked the protruding rock loose with a grin towards the Musketeers. Porthos raised his gun, aiming at the man but it was too late. The pulled rock had been the only thing keeping one of the overhangs from crashing onto the pathway. With a ground shuddering thud, several large rocks smashed into the pathway leaving the Musketeers stranded.

Once the dust had settled a sarcastic voice could be heard calling to them.

'Musketeers,' said the man, 'you are now our prisoners. We have sent for reinforcements and explosives. When they return we will blast you off the rock. Then you will be no further annoyance to us. Have a good last night.'

There was general laughter from the men on the other side of the rock fall.

'We should not have come up here. We should have stayed with the horses,' said Athos. 'Now we are trapped.'

Athos looked at Porthos, unable to help an accusatory stare.

'Don't blame me. It might have been my idea, but you led the way. You're the one that said Aramis could not continue on horseback,' said Porthos rounding on his brother.

Athos shook his head, 'I thought you were supposed to know the area? Why didn't you say you were not sure where this path went?'

'I'm familiar with the area 'cos I fought a battle here ten years ago. I don't know every inch of it.'

Athos looked away, annoyed that they were stuck, annoyed that he had blindly followed Porthos suggestion without questioning him further about the pathway.

MMMM

Porthos was seething at the accusation that their predicament could have been down to his choice. If Athos was not sure about the path, he should have asked. Porthos had seen it as an opportunity not to be missed, it was not his fault if the pathway led to a dead end.

D'Artagnan had watched the two men argue impassively, Porthos turned to the younger man.

'None of this would have happened if you hadn't let them all know we were there…'

'What?'

'You, blundering into the wrong room in the chateau. You had the plans-'

'Plans that I'd had exactly two minutes to look at before you started to insist that we start the search,' d'Artagnan snapped back. 'And we wouldn't have even been out here if Athos hadn't annoyed that Comte.'

Athos glared at d'Artagnan. Porthos turned away from them both. It was true that the only reason they had been given the mission was to get them out of Paris for a few days because Athos had talked back to a disagreeable Comte at the Palace. The King had overheard the exchange and ordered the Musketeers away. Treville had decided that the four of them needed to go completely away. He had given them three days to retrieve some information from a Chateau that was believed to be heavily guarded. At the start of the mission, they had teased Athos about it being his fault. Now, thought Porthos, he wished he had protested about them all being punished for something that Athos had done.

'Can you all just stop?' said Aramis from behind him. The Musketeer had managed to get to his feet and taken a few steps towards the rockslide before turning back to them.

'We're going to be stuck here for at least a few hours. Treville is bound to already be looking for us. We're already late back,' Aramis continued, blinking a few times as he spoke.

Porthos looked at Aramis carefully. The man had paled quite a bit and did not seem comfortable. Porthos looked at Aramis' hand, which was still clutching at his side. His eyes widened when he realised there was blood seeping between the fingers of Aramis' gloves.

'Aramis? You're hurt.'

Aramis looked at him with confusion before taking his hand away from his side for the first time since he had fallen from the horse. The marksman had been holding his arm firmly across himself since the accident. Porthos had guessed Aramis was trying to keep his potentially broken ribs still.

Aramis looked at his hand for a few seconds, the shock and confusion obvious on his face. He looked back up at them.

'I didn't...I didn't realise...honestly I didn't know...I wasn't hiding it...I don't know how…'

Aramis stumbled to the side, closer to the ravine's edge. Porthos shot forward, but d'Artagnan was quicker, grabbing the injured man before he toppled over the edge. But d'Artagnan's own forward momentum started to carry them both over. Porthos grabbed them both, hauling them backwards roughly.

MMMM

D'Artagnan cursed to himself as he felt both himself and Aramis falling over the edge of the ravine. He had been so quick to grab Aramis he had not thought the action through. When he was grabbed by Porthos and pulled back he was grateful, despite the hard landing they all suffered.

It took him a few seconds to untangle himself from both Aramis and Porthos. Aramis was very still.

'He's passed out. It's a wonder he was still able to stand up,' said Porthos as he pushed d'Artagnan up to sit.

Between them, they turned Aramis onto his right side. D'Artagnan undid his doublet and pushed it aside. The dark red staining on Aramis' shirt told them all they needed to know.

'It cannot have been his ribs that were causing him pain when he fell,' said Athos.

'He must have been hit as we rounded the bend in the ravine,' said d'Artagnan as he pulled Aramis' shirt loose and pushed it up.

A graze across the side of his chest and a second wound a few inches lower were revealed.

'It's no wonder he was in pain,' said Porthos, 'that one would have made him think he'd hurt his ribs and that one would have made it feel worse.'

'Do you think that's why the horse reared up? Did one of the balls hit the horse as well?'

Athos nodded, 'I expect so...there's no exit wound for the shot to his side though.'

D'Artagnan gently passed his fingers over the injured man's side, finding the tell-tale lump of the ball embedded in the flesh.

'It's not buried deep, we should be able to cut it out. Be easier than digging it out through the wound.'

Porthos nodded, 'trouble is we ain't got anything with us. The medical bag is on Aramis' horse and I didn't bring anything, not even water with me when we ran for it.'

D'Artagnan glanced up to Athos who shook his head.

'What do we do? We can't clean the wound properly...but we need to get that ball out.'

'We do what we can with what we have,' said Athos as he reached down to his boot and pulled out a slim dagger, handing it to d'Artagnan.

Porthos had undone his own jacket, untucked his shirt and was busy ripping strips off the bottom to make into bandages. He wadded one up and handed it to d'Artagnan.

'Do you want me to cut the ball out?'

D'Artagnan shook his head, 'I can manage, he's shown me what to do. Remember when Marc got hit with a stray ball when the cadets were practising? I cut that out...under careful supervision.'

D'Artagnan glanced up at their unconscious brother before looking back at Porthos who nodded his ascent.

Athos crouched down and took the wadded-up bandage and prepared to apply pressure once d'Artagnan had cut the ball out.

'Hold him still,' said Athos, 'the pain might wake him up.'

Porthos gently lifted Aramis up and wrapped his arms around the still unconscious man as d'Artagnan made his incision. None of them spoke for a few minutes, as d'Artagnan worked, he was careful to remove the ball and the piece of fabric pushed into the wound with it. Athos pressed the torn shirt over the bleeding wound as Porthos pushed Aramis up slightly so that d'Artagnan could wrap a second piece of Porthos' torn shirt around the injured man to hold their makeshift bandage in place.

'Nothing else we can do...we can't clean it...we can't stitch it,' Porthos said as he pushed some hairs off Aramis' face.

The three men settled down for a silent vigil, waiting for the hoped for help from Treville and for their brother to regain consciousness.

MMMM

'Before he passed out,' said d'Artagnan, as the night wore on, 'he was worried we would think he'd been hiding the injury.'

'I know,' said Athos who had been dwelling on the last confused words that Aramis had said before he collapsed. 'I think he did not want to add fuel to our argument.'

D'Artagnan, who was sat closest to the rockfall, listening out for movement on the other side looked back at them.

'We're all tired,' he said, 'this has been a rather fraught mission from the start.'

The three men looked at each other for a few seconds before all smiling apologetically.

'It 'appened,' said Porthos, 'shame it took him getting injured for us to start working together again.'

'I'm glad...I could help,' said Aramis quietly.

'Do not move,' said Athos firmly as he moved closer to Aramis who was still being held by Porthos.

'Wasn't planning on it,' replied the injured man as he slowly opened his eyes.

'Just so as you know,' said Porthos, 'we believe you.'

Aramis managed to tilt his head to look at Porthos with confusion.

'Before you passed out, you were worried we would think you'd been hiding the injury.'

Aramis looked away, obviously recalling the moments before he became unconscious.

'I'm annoyed I didn't realise myself,' he said.

'I think the conditions conspired against us all,' said Athos with a smile.

Gunshots coming from the ravine floor drew their attention. Athos and d'Artagnan leaned forward as far as they could to see what was happening. The full moon casting its dim light over the path below.

'It's Treville,' said d'Artagnan glancing back.

'Guess we ain't gonna be blown up after all,' said Porthos.

The End.

Authors note: sorry, bit of a cheeky turn around on the 'I'm fine' trope we all love when writing Aramis whump!


	10. Bruises

Chapter Ten - Bruises

 **D'Artagnan and Porthos.**

'D'Artagnan!' yelled Porthos.

The simple mission had just become very uncomfortable for the young Musketeer. Porthos jumped down from his horse and rushed to his brother's side. D'Artagnan had not moved since hitting the ground. His horse, which had reared unexpectedly, had trotted off a few yards. Porthos' own mount had moved to stand next to the agitated beast. But Porthos did not have time to wonder if the stablemate was providing comfort. Porthos' only concern was his brother.

'Don't move,' said Porthos as he crashed to his knees beside the younger man.

''salright,' said d'Artagnan, trying to coordinate his words as he tried to coordinate his limbs; failing at both.

'It ain't alright,' said Porthos as he grabbed d'Artagnan's hand.

D'Artagnan made eye contact with Porthos, he looked a little confused. Which, Porthos thought, was not surprising. One minute they had been cantering along with no issue before d'Artagnan's horse had reared up with no warning. Porthos had no idea what had caused the horse to react as he had.

Slowly, Porthos guided d'Artagnan to sit. His brother was breathing shallowly and clutching his side.

'Ribs?' asked Porthos.

D'Artagnan managed a nod, his eyes screwed shut.

'Alright, can you stand?'

D'Artagnan nodded again before allowing Porthos to help him up. The young man was panting and leaning on Porthos heavily, the pain obvious.

'Are you two alright?'

Porthos looked across to the old woman who, with the aid of a walking stick had approached them. The woman had a small basket over her arm containing what looked like herbs.

'I think he's alright, just badly bruised,' replied Porthos as the woman reached them.

She looked d'Artagnan over for a few seconds before looking up at Porthos.

'My cottage is only a couple of hundred yards into the wood there,' she said nodding to their left, 'if you can afford your friend some time to rest and perhaps clean up those cuts to his hands I'll gladly offer you shelter.'

Porthos watched as the still slightly stunned d'Artagnan looked at his hands which were grazed and cut where he must have reached out to try to stop his fall. D'Artagnan looked at the woman.

'I'm fine, really…'

Porthos raised his eyebrows glancing at the woman who chuckled.

'You may be a Musketeer,' she said, 'but you are not unbreakable. Come and have a sit down for a couple of hours, then we can decide if you're fine.'

The old woman turned and started to make her way into the woods. Porthos gently steered his injured brother after her. As the cottage came into view several hens rushed forward, grouping around the old woman who shooed them away as she spoke.

'I've lived alone since my husband died three years ago. My son has a smallholding a couple of miles away. His wife comes to see me every couple of days. But I'm quite content to enjoy the solitude. This area is pretty, and there are few predatory animals around.'

She pushed open the wooden door of the small cottage. Porthos had to duck down to enter the two roomed building.

The woman pointed to a cushioned chair by a small fire. Porthos looked at her for a few seconds. The chair was obviously where she would sit, he did not want to deprive her of her place.

'He needs it more than me,' she said with a smile.

After guiding d'Artagnan to sit in the chair Porthos helped the younger man to take off his doublet and shirt. D'Artagnan tried to hide the hisses and gasps of pain but failed miserably. The old woman had wandered off returning after a few minutes with a small bowl of water and some cloths. She pulled up a stool and began to gently clean d'Artagnan's hands while Porthos felt the injured man's ribs. When d'Artagnan cried out in pain he knew he had found the main cause of his friend's pain.

'Doesn't feel broken,' concluded Porthos, 'but it's gonna hurt a lot.'

D'Artagnan nodded, his eyes still shut from the shock of pain Porthos had inadvertently caused. Porthos noticed that the kind old woman was clutching d'Artagnan's hand firmly, waiting patiently for the young man to recover.

'My second son, he was a soldier. He died fighting for his country,' she said. 'I'm very proud of what he did. What you all do.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' d'Artagnan managed to say, as the woman resumed cleaning his hands.

'Will you be alright with 'im whilst I round the horses up?' asked Porthos.

The woman nodded with a smile, 'what's he going to do?'

Porthos chuckled as he left the room.

MMMM

When he had returned d'Artagnan had been redressed by the old woman and was holding a cup of broth. A second steaming cup was sat on the table. The old woman nodded towards the cup as Porthos closed the door.

'Marie was telling me that her son was in the infantry, your regiment,' said d'Artagnan as Porthos pulled out a chair at the table to sit opposite the old woman.

'Simon Baudin,' said Marie looking at Porthos hopefully, 'did you know him?'

Porthos looked away for a few seconds, shocked.

'He...he saved my life,' said Porthos, 'the day he died, it was when I got this.'

Porthos pointed at the scar over his eye. Marie sat back in the chair, her eyes wide.

'I was unconscious, he pulled me away from the fighting...he was hit by a musket ball just as he got us clear. He fell over me. I think he shielded me from further harm. I probably would have died otherwise.'

The room was silent for a few seconds. Porthos could see Marie was trying to comprehend what Porthos had just said.

'He'd been a good friend, we got into trouble together, more than once...he talked our Captain out of us both getting flogged once…'

Marie, tears in her eyes, leaned forward and lay her small hand over Porthos'.

'He wrote to me a few times, talked about his friend...Porthos?'

Porthos nodded.

'I'm so pleased to meet you...We were devastated when we learned he had died. The only consolation for us was that he died in battle...but what you've just told me...he died saving his friend.'

She lost her own battle with the tears, but still managed to smile sadly at Porthos. After a few moments, she sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from her apron.

'You boys are staying. I will make a stew, don't argue with me,' said Marie firmly when Porthos was about to protest.

'He needs to rest for a while,' she said glancing at d'Artagnan, 'and you...you need to tell me all you can remember about my Simon.'

Porthos nodded, knowing that they could spare the time. Marie was right, d'Artagnan could do with a few hours rest from riding, although he was still in for an uncomfortable ride later on as the bruising got worse. And, if Porthos could ease Marie's own, well hidden, emotional bruises with tales of heroic deeds that her son had taken part in, then Porthos could see no issue with staying.

The End.

 **Authors note: dollops of twee - sorry.**


	11. Hypothermia

Chapter Eleven - Hypothermia

 **Athos (with d'Artagnan, Porthos and Aramis)**

'I got you,' panted Porthos as he dragged the exhausted man from the river.

Athos clearly could not respond, Porthos could tell he was still conscious but did not think he would remain so for long.

D'Artagnan skidded to a halt next to him, grabbed Athos' other arm and assisted pulling the Musketeer further up the bank away from the fast-flowing torrent.

'Lucky Aramis knew the river got shallower here,' said d'Artagnan. 'It would have been hard work trying to get him out of the deeper sections.'

'Yeah, but it did mean we had to let him go past a couple of places I could have grabbed him.'

'And get pulled in yourself,' said Aramis as he caught up with them.

'What kept you?' asked Porthos.

'Fell over...it happens...I'm not perfect, you can tease me later,' replied Aramis without looking up from Athos.

The bedraggled Musketeer lying between them had passed out. But he was shivering. Aramis started to undo Athos doublet. D'Artagnan helped the medic to push their brother up to sit as they divested him of the jacket. Porthos pulled off Athos' boots and leather breeches.

'We need to get him warm,' said Aramis, 'take off your doublet.'

Porthos and d'Artagnan did as they were told without question. Aramis was their field medic and knew what he was doing, although getting Athos warmed up was common sense. They lay the doublet's over the unconscious man.

'You two are going to have to get friendly with him,' said Aramis.

'What?' said both Porthos and d'Artagnan at the same time.

'Warm him up, with your own body heat...embrace him, keep him close to you.'

Porthos glanced at d'Artagnan before looking back at Athos.

'He won't like that.'

'He's unconscious,' pointed out Aramis.

'Why are we doing it?' asked d'Artagnan as he shuffled closer to Athos.

Porthos looked at Aramis but did not repeat the question.

'Do either of you know the area?'

Both men shook their heads.

'Well, I do. I know there is a village about two miles in that direction. The tavern keeper there owes me a favour. I'm going to get help.'

Aramis stood up and started to undo his own doublet before shrugging out of it and handing it to d'Artagnan.

'Seriously, body warmth. It's the best we can do at the moment,' said Aramis when Porthos still did not get closer to Athos.

Porthos had no problem with helping his brother, Porthos was worried about what would happen if Athos woke up and found both himself and d'Artagnan at such close quarters. Athos was not a particularly tactile man at the best of times. But Aramis had a point. Of the three of them, only he knew the area.

'I'll be as quick as I can,' said Aramis, 'I'll try to be back before he wakes up and kills you both.'

Aramis took off in the direction he had said the village was in without waiting for his brothers to reply.

'I hate him sometimes,' said d'Artagnan.

'Somehow, we get stuck with the...awkward jobs all the time,' remarked Porthos as he finally moved to sit closer to Athos, slipping his arm around the man's shoulders.

'Hopefully,' continued Porthos, looking at their unconscious brother, 'he'll never need to know.'

The End.

 **Authors note: Prequel later on…**


	12. Electrocution (Lightning)

**Authors note: I cheated a bit on the title – sorry.**

Chapter Twelve - Electrocution (Lightning)

 **Porthos (with d'Artagnan, Athos and Aramis)**

Skittish horses were the least of their problems. Porthos talked to his mount in as calm a voice as he could manage as another lightning bolt lit up the sky. The weather was awful, the rain had been pelting them both for what felt like hours. D'Artagnan looked how Porthos felt. Miserable.

The thunder and lightning just added to their issues. The usually calm horses did not like the flashes of light. Porthos had been in battles where the horses were better behaved, he guessed the sound of gunshots was not the same as the crack of lightning and almost constant rumbling of the thunder. There was also the atmosphere that the storm brought with it. A sort of oppressive suffocating blanket that had only lifted as the rain had begun to fall.

The one consolation was that they were nearly at the tavern. Nearly in a warm room with a roaring fire and a very accommodating serving girl who had spurned Aramis' advances the previous night in favour of Porthos. The thought made Porthos smile, although he suspected that Aramis and Athos would reach the tavern before them, Aramis was probably already working his charm on the young woman.

Another crack of lightning, the thunder booming at the same time, caused his horse to rear slightly. Porthos managed to remain mounted but the frightened animal was now very skittish. D'Artagnan was having his own battle a few yards away.

A second crack had Porthos looking upwards, the sound was not lightning. Too late he saw the large tree branch descending towards him. His horse panicked again and finally managed to dislodge his rider. The horse bolted forward leaving Porthos unable to escape the falling branch. He managed to cover his head with his arms but knew he was in trouble.

MMMM

'Porthos!' yelled d'Artagnan as he leapt off his horse which immediately took off after its stablemate towards the village.

The branch that had fallen had smaller stalks coming off it still covered with green leaves, d'Artagnan could not see Porthos. Expecting the worst, he rounded the smaller branches.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he knelt beside his brother.

Porthos was trying, with little hope, to push the large branch off his legs.

'That won't work,' said d'Artagnan loudly, knowing that his words would be whipped away by the wind if he did not speak up.

'Get it off me,' replied Porthos with a little more panic in his voice than d'Artagnan had expected.

'It's too heavy Porthos...'

'The ground is soft, I don't think I'm injured, it feels like I'm being pushed into the ground... I can't get free…'

Porthos again tried to push at the tree. D'Artagnan wondered why his friend was so panicked. He lay his hand over Porthos'.

'It's too heavy, Porthos calm down.'

As he spoke he realised that his brother was bleeding from a head wound. Porthos was probably confused and disorientated. Even as he worked out that Porthos must have been hit by one of the smaller branches, his brother started to close his eyes.

'No, stay awake. Porthos!'

Porthos roused slightly, 'sorry...I can't get free.'

'I know,' said d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan considered his options. He knew he could not free Porthos on his own. He also knew he could not leave the trapped man. The storm was still raging but when it stopped there was the possibility of wolves finding him. And it would probably be in Porthos' interest to be kept awake. D'Artagnan had no choice, he pushed Porthos up to sit and sat behind him supporting him. It was not particularly comfortable for d'Artagnan but that did not matter.

'Talk to me Porthos,' said d'Artagnan, 'you need to keep awake.'

Porthos was quiet for a few seconds before he spoke, 'I hit my head, didn't I?'

'Yes, and you're stuck.'

'Sorry,' said Porthos.

D'Artagnan chuckled, 'it's hardly your fault is it?'

'How long do you think it will take the others to realise something has happened?'

D'Artagnan was wondering the same thing. He could feel Porthos shaking and knew he was going to suffer as well. They had already been soaked through before the accident. Now they were stuck in the pouring rain.

'The horses went in the right direction…' said d'Artagnan, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

MMMM

'Monsieur's,' called the tavern keeper as he hurried across the warm room towards them.

Aramis looked up from his dinner, Athos put down his wine.

'Two horses have just been found...I think they're your other men's,' said the tavern keeper, 'but there is no sign of the men. One of the horses, the saddle and bags are twisted, like the horse threw the rider…'

'Show us,' said Athos, rising from the table.

They followed the tavern keeper out to the stable. The storm that had been raging was starting to blow itself out, but the temperature was cold. They walked into the stable. Athos watched Aramis cross to the two horses which were being held by the stable boy who was stroking Porthos' horse.

'This one was agitated but he's calmed down now,' said the young lad.

'Where's your master?' said Aramis quietly to the horse.

'Saddle our mounts,' said Athos to the stable boy, before turning to Aramis, 'we will take the road they should have used, something has happened, the sooner we find them the better.'

Aramis nodded, 'I'll get my medical bag.'

They were on the road within minutes, the worry for their brothers focusing both of their minds.

It did not take the two Musketeers long to find Porthos and d'Artagnan. The large fallen tree branch was blocking the road. As the rain and wind had calmed down it was easier to pick their way around the smaller branches, bringing their brothers into view.

Porthos was obviously trapped by the fallen branch, his legs were under the tree limb. He was being supported by d'Artagnan who was sat behind Porthos, his arms wrapped around the older man. Both men were looking up at them.

'So pleased you could join us,' said Porthos, his voice a little slurred.

Aramis had dismounted and approached the pair; he knelt beside them and started to run his hands along Porthos' legs.

'I'm trapped under a bloody tree, even I can see what the problem is,' snapped Porthos.

'He also had a bang on the head…' said d'Artagnan, 'I've been keeping him awake.'

'Sorry,' Porthos looked at Aramis who smiled.

Athos crouched down beside d'Artagnan and slung his arm around the Musketeer offering him a little support. D'Artagnan nodded gratefully but did not say anything. Athos suspected he did not want Porthos to realise just how uncomfortable he was. Athos could feel d'Artagnan shivering, both men were soaked.

'Do you think your legs are broken?' asked Aramis.

'No,' replied Porthos blinking a few times, 'the ground is soft, I just can't get free.'

Athos looked at the heavy tree branch. He knew they would not be able to move it on their own. They would need to get help. Aramis turned to him.

'Take d'Artagnan back and get him warmed up, I'll stay with Porthos until you can bring some help.'

Athos nodded before rising and helping d'Artagnan to stand. The young man almost collapsed. Aramis helped Athos to steady him, d'Artagnan looked embarrassed.

'You've been stuck in the same position for some time in the cold and the rain, it's no wonder your exhausted,' said Aramis by way of reassurance.

Porthos had leaned back on his elbows watching the three men. Aramis turned to him.

'Don't go anywhere whilst I help d'Artagnan mount up.'

Porthos tilted his head at his friend in exasperation. Athos hid a smile as he helped d'Artagnan over to the two horses. He mounted up before leaning across to steady d'Artagnan as Aramis helped the cold Musketeer up on to his mare.

Athos pulled off his cloak and swung it over d'Artagnan before being forced to lean across and do it up when the younger man could not move his fingers with enough dexterity.

'I will be as quick as I can,' he said after taking the other horses reins not trusting d'Artagnan to be coordinated enough to manage on his own.

Aramis nodded before turning back to Porthos.

MMMM

As Athos led the shivering d'Artagnan away Aramis returned to Porthos' side. He pushed his brother up to sit and sat behind him, taking the spot that d'Artagnan had vacated. He was glad the rain had stopped. Porthos was not bothering to hide how cold he was.

'I think I might have said some mean things to d'Artagnan earlier,' said Porthos, as Aramis pulled his own cloak around them both.

'I'm sure he won't hold it against you,' replied Aramis as he looked around.

'If wolves come you should get away,' said Porthos, his tone serious.

'If wolves come I will shoot a couple of them and then the rest will go away,' replied Aramis absentmindedly.

'I'm serious, Aramis, don't put yourself in danger.'

Aramis looked back at his brother and sighed, of course, Porthos was right, but that did not mean that he had any intention of abandoning his friend.

'Help won't be long anyway, I doubt we'll be here long enough for wolves to sniff you out.'

Porthos scowled, 'so they aren't going to sniff you out?'

'No, wolves wouldn't want to eat me.'

'And why is that? What makes me more tempting...other than being trapped under a tree.'

'They wouldn't want to mess with perfection,' said Aramis with a grin.

Porthos laughed, 'thank you,' he said after a few moments.

'What for? Did you think Athos and I wouldn't come to look for you both?'

'No, thank you for lightening the mood.'

They sat in silence for a few seconds.

'Did you get the letter?' asked Aramis, realising that he needed to keep Porthos awake.

'What letter?'

'The one your assignment was about.'

Porthos shifted slightly and pulled the letter from his doublet. The paper was damp and torn.

'We'll have to try to dry it out,' he said as Aramis took the missive and tucked it away in his own doublet.

The noises of the wild creatures started to become clearer, as the local wildlife emerged after the storm. An owl hooted in the distance. They could hear rustling behind them. Aramis twisted around, spotting a couple of deer walking by.

'Not wolves,' he said by way of reassurance to Porthos.

'I was impressed with d'Artagnan,' said Porthos after another few seconds of listening to the sounds of the night.

'Why?'

'Him staying with me.'

'What did you expect him to do?' said Aramis. 'You really have a low opinion of yourself if you think that he would have left you and thought that we might not have come to look for you.'

Porthos smirked, 'at least you think the wolves will like me.'

Aramis huffed out a laugh, 'I'm starting to think I'll let them have you.'

The End.


	13. Stay

Chapter Thirteen - 'Stay.'

 **Aramis (with Porthos)**

'No, Aramis, you have to stay there.'

Porthos rolled his eyes as he pushed the confused man back down again. He could not remember how many times he had been forced to pin his unfocused, injured friend back down on the bed.

It was not Aramis' fault, the wound had become infected and he was battling a fever. The fever had followed its usual course and now the confused man thought he should be up and about, when really he should be resting.

'...but the cadets need training.'

'The cadets will still be there when you are well again.'

'...but…'

'No,' said Porthos firmly.

Aramis slumped back for a few seconds, he looked defeated. Porthos wondered if the feverish man might finally acquiesce and rest.

'Stay,' Porthos commanded.

His friend looked at him blankly for a few seconds but remained where he was. Porthos sighed and rose from the bed, wondering if Aramis would stay put long enough for him to visit the mess and get them both some food. Not that he expected Aramis to eat much, but he still had to try.

Aramis was looking intently at the ceiling.

Porthos slowly started to walk towards the door. A tell-tale creak behind him had him stop and turn.

Sure enough, his friend had pushed the blankets back and was trying to swing his legs off the bed.

'I told you to stay,' sighed Porthos, more to himself than to his injured friend.

Offering up a silent prayer to Aramis' God and hoping his friend would not find what he was about to do a betrayal, Porthos reached for a couple of belts. He crossed back to the bed and pushed Aramis back down. His friend was weak and easy to manoeuvre, Aramis tried to resist but was no match for the fully fit Musketeer who pinned him back to the bed.

With a feeling of guilt, but knowing he was doing it for the right reasons he slipped the first leather belt around the bed frame and his friends left wrist. Aramis watched him but did not say anything.

'I'm sorry, but I love you and want you to get better,' he said quietly as he moved to the other side of the bed.

Porthos gently pulled Aramis' right hand away from his left, before the injured man could undo the belt and restrained him fully. Aramis weakly pulled at the belts. Porthos was glad when the man did not panic at the treatment. He merely looked confused. After a very brief struggle, he lay back down defeated. The efforts Aramis had made to escape proved to be his undoing. He was asleep in minutes.

Porthos smiled as he brushed a few wayward curls from his friend's fevered brow.

'Sleep well,' he said quietly, 'you can train the cadets when you are fit again.'

The End.


	14. Torture

Chapter Fourteen - Torture

 **D'Artagnan (with Athos)**

Athos closed his eyes briefly when d'Artagnan screamed. The young Musketeer had held on far longer than Athos had expected him to. Even when he did show the pain he was in he managed to stifle the scream to a certain extent. But the look of pain in his eyes. That was what made Athos close his own. D'Artagnan had held eye contact with Athos as the lash hit his back. Athos had lost count of the number of times the lash had been swung through the air.

D'Artagnan did not want Athos to speak. They both knew Athos could not speak up, if he did countless innocent lives could be lost. The information was just too valuable. It was not the first time Athos has been in the position he was. Watching a brother tortured. Knowing he need only say the word and the torment would be over.

Athos pulled at the chains that were holding him at bay. There was nothing he could do.

He could talk.

He could betray the innocent people.

He could save d'Artagnan.

He could save his brother.

But the look he got from d'Artagnan, the look that had not changed since they had ripped his shirt off and tied his wrists tightly and raised them above his head. The look had not changed as the lash was brought down across d'Artagnan's back again and again, and again.

Athos would not talk.

Athos would not betray the innocent people.

Athos chose not to save d'Artagnan.

Athos chose not to save his brother.

It could have been him, barely able to support his own weight, trying not to show any weakness. It could have been him, but it was not; it was d'Artagnan.

Athos wondered what had made the men chose to torture d'Artagnan rather than him? Surely the younger man would break quicker if he had been made to watch? Surely the men would know that Athos was likely to last longer before he was compelled to talk as he watched d'Artagnan tortured?

Then it hit him. The men knew Athos would not speak easily. They knew Athos would be able to hold out longer. The sadistic bastards wanted to watch them both suffer. D'Artagnan physically; Athos mentally.

Did they even want Athos to give up the information? Was this just a game for them?

Athos decided he did not want to play anymore.

'Alright,' he said.

The man with the lash paused, his arm already drawn back ready to strike again. The man with the gun stared at Athos a look of surprise on his face.

D'Artagnan, who had momentarily lowered his head looked up.

'No,' he said quietly, his voice cracking, even on the simple word.

Athos looked at the young man for a few seconds before turning to face the man with the gun.

'Get me some paper, I will write it down, I would not want you to forget any of the details when you report to your paymaster.'

The gunman smirked slightly before nodding to the man with the lash, who grunted and dropped his torturous device. The clang of the door shutting told Athos the man had gone.

'Athos...don't,' d'Artagnan barely had the strength to talk.

Athos did not look at him; could not look at him.

The paper arrived, the man brought a small table, a chair, and a quill and ink. The man with the gun stepped forward, passing his gun to the other man who pointed it at d'Artagnan. Athos was released from his chains and allowed to walk to the table. He sat down and began to write.

Athos could feel d'Artagnan watching him.

The rope holding d'Artagnan up was cut, the young Musketeer crumpled to the ground. He made no sound and did not move, but Athos was sure the man was still conscious.

Athos finished writing, he held up the paper to the man who reached out for it.

The mistake the men had made was in believing Athos. Believing that he had broken. The other mistake the men had made was to release d'Artagnan from his bonds.

Both men moved together, Athos knew he could not rely on his injured brother, but d'Artagnan would cause enough of a distraction for him to deal with the two men. A swift firm punch to the throat of the man in front of Athos saw him stumble back, falling to the floor. The other man, the man who had taken such pleasure in lashing d'Artagnan was kicked firmly in the back of the leg by the injured man, he fell hard, his head smacking into the stone floor. Athos was impressed, with no effort at all d'Artagnan had halved their problem.

Athos made short work of the other man, he grabbed the gun, flipped it in his hands and clubbed the man across the head, twice. The man was not dead, but now had a broken nose and would probably have a bad headache when he awoke.

Rushing to the door Athos peered out. As he had expected, they were alone, the small house was only occupied by the two men who had taken them.

'I thought…' panted d'Artagnan, 'you were really going to speak…'

'I thought,' replied Athos, 'that you should have pretended to be in more pain than you are a little earlier than you did.'

'Wanted...it to look authentic.'

'They were playing with us,' said Athos as he grabbed d'Artagnan's doublet from the corner of the room where the men had thrown it when they had forcefully taken it off him.

Athos hated to put his brother through more pain, but it would be cool outside, and he did not want d'Artagnan to suffer from the cold as well as his injuries. The sooner they could get back to their camp and deal with the wounds the better.

'Stay awake a bit longer…'

D'Artagnan nodded as Athos helped him up and out of the room that had been their prison. The information was safe, they were both alive, d'Artagnan would recover. Not the perfect mission, thought Athos, but they had accomplished what they set out to do.

The End.


	15. Manhandled

Chapter Fifteen - Manhandled

 **The King (with Porthos)**

King Louis looked about him, at least he tried to as he was being pushed through the wood with little care for his wellbeing. At least that was how it felt at any rate. One minute he had been trundling along in a carriage that surely had seen better days the next the Musketeer Porthos had dragged him out and pulled him into the thickest tangle of trees and bushes he had ever seen.

He had no idea what had happened or why. He had tried to protest at his treatment, at the way Porthos had manhandled him. People were not supposed to touch him. He was the King. He was Godly. Porthos had not even asked permission, just grabbed his arm and forced him to run.

The King was aware of gunshots and shouts as he was propelled further from the safety of the carriage. Surely he would have been safer there?

A loud noise behind him made him try to turn, in doing so he stumbled, but Porthos, whose hand was still around his arm kept him upright, dragging him back to his feet and continuing to move him away from what must have been an intense fight.

He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest, he wondered if he could keep up the run for much longer. How much further was his Musketeer going to make him go? He tried to dig his heels in to stop the run but Porthos was taller and broader than him. The bigger man was not going to be easily stopped. He was not able to take enough of a breath to command that the man come to halt.

Louis was sure his breeches had been torn as they rushed through the bushes, his stockings were certainly ruined.

Porthos was slowing, he stopped. The King stumbled again, this time he was grateful for Porthos' aid in keeping him upright.

'I'm sorry, Majesty,' said Porthos, all respect and bowed head, despite his breathlessness, 'but we...needed to get you away from...there.'

Louis just looked at the man standing in front of him. Porthos had a ripped doublet and grazes across his face, his gun was in his hand, he guessed the weapon was spent. The King had seen the Musketeers fire their guns whilst in close combat before, it was usual practice for them to simply flip the weapon in their hands and use them as clubs when there was no time to reload.

'What happened?'

'Not sure, Majesty,' said Porthos, breaking eye contact and looking back the way they had come.

Porthos was still breathing hard.

'Am I safe?'

'We're far enough away...and I can't see anyone coming after us. Hopefully, none of them saw us leave.'

The King followed Porthos' gaze. The realisation of what could have happened dawned on him.

'I could have been killed.'

'I think that was the idea, Majesty,' said Porthos with a nod.

'You saved me.'

Porthos paused for a few seconds before replying, 'that's my job, Majesty.'

'You could have been killed saving me.'

The King stared at Porthos for a few seconds. The thought of what might have happened, of all the different ways he could have been killed or captured by whoever it was that had attacked his carriage rushed through his mind.

Throwing all protocol aside the King stepped up to Porthos and wrapped his arms around the bigger man for a few seconds. Porthos became very still at the King's actions.

'I'm sorry,' said Louis when he released his Musketeer, 'don't tell anyone, will you.'

'No, Majesty,' said Porthos, who was looking at the King warily.

'Now,' the King said reverting to his usual tone, 'what do you propose now? Are you expecting me to walk back to Paris?'

The End.


	16. Bedridden

Chapter Sixteen - Bedridden

 **Porthos (with Aramis).**

 **Author's note: This is the sequel to the very first story - 'Stabbed.'**

Porthos opened his eyes slowly, only to have his fear realised. He was alone. The clean walls of the infirmary and the various bandages and cloths his only company. He rolled onto his back carefully. It had not taken him long to realise that slow movements were his friend.

When they had first brought him into the infirmary there had been a tension in the air. Despite his half-conscious state he was aware of his brothers worry for him. Aramis, his expression set, had calmly ordered the others around. The medic had even shooed Treville out of the way at one point. Porthos had found the move amusing, although he had lacked the energy at the time to show it. The Captain had willingly deferred to Aramis' knowledge at that moment.

There had been talk of too much blood loss, and that he did not look well. Porthos had wanted to reassure them that he would be fine but could not. He had slipped away into the darkness hearing d'Artagnan calling his name as he went.

The first time he had woken after that he had found Athos sat by the bed watching him. Their leader had spent a few minutes talking to him but Porthos could not remember what the man had talked about. He recalled being helped to drink before the darkness won out again.

The next time he had woken fully. D'Artagnan was there. The young man had explained that he had lost a lot of blood before Aramis had been able to stitch the wound. They had been very worried about him, but that he looked a lot better than he had. Porthos was told by the smiling man that he was going to be fine, it would take a while and he had to remain bed bound but he would be alright.

Treville had visited him, telling him that Aramis had been told to go and rest a few hours before. The medic had initially headed for the bed next to Porthos, but the Captain had ordered him out of the room.

Porthos had managed a chuckle at the idea of a complaining Aramis reluctantly leaving his patient.

And now, now he was alone. There was no longer a need to keep an eye on him. He was nearly recovered.

Nearly.

That was Porthos' main problem, he was so close to being able to get up but they would not allow him. He had been helped to stand a few times in order to deal with his ablutions. The first time was very uncomfortable but the most recent time d'Artagnan was barely holding him up.

Aramis and the doctor that had visited a couple of times had intimated that he would be able to return to very light duties in the next couple of days; provided he behaved until then. Any strain on his leg and he would be confined to the bed for further days of rest.

Swords clashed in the yard. A couple of cadets were sparring. Porthos could hear them teasing each other, trying to get the other to make a careless mistake. It made him smile, thinking of doing similar things in his early days. Trying and always failing to distract Athos mid-fight. Using a few dirty tactics on Aramis had meant he won one of their battles but had also left the marksman struggling to breathe for a few minutes. Athos had berated them both that time, Porthos for his underhand moves and Aramis for not anticipating them. And then there were the times when two of them would gang up on the other. Those fights were generally only stopped by Treville shouting at them.

The cadets clashed swords again. Porthos listened intently for a few seconds before frowning. Was he hearing correctly? He hoped not.

The door to the infirmary opened, Aramis appeared holding a tray of food, a narrow glass at one side of the tray held a flower.

'I thought you might like something, other than the walls to look at,' said Aramis with a smirk.

'A flower? I ain't one of your ladies,' replied Porthos, as he watched Aramis put the flower on the table beside the bed.

'I think I've spent more time at your bedside than I have with any of them the last few days.'

Porthos shook his head before noticing what else was on the tray.

'This,' said Aramis, handing Porthos the well-thumbed book, 'is a good read, it should keep you out of trouble for the next couple of days...then and only then, we'll get you up and moving about a bit.'

Porthos smiled, 'that is music to my ears my friend…'

'What?' asked Aramis after a few seconds.

Porthos realised he had become distracted by the clashing swords again.

'Them two out there, who is it?'

Aramis frowned before crossing to peer out of the window. He turned back to Porthos who had managed to push himself up to sit.

'Luc and Marc,' said Aramis, the confusion at the question obvious.

'When I am up and about, those two are going to be getting some extra lessons,' said Porthos with a nod to himself.

'Why? They seem competent enough.'

Porthos shook his head, 'I've been lying here for days now, and I've listened to a few sparring sessions. And those two...I know when they are sparring. They use the same moves each time, it's like they've rehearsed it. They'll get a big bloody shook in the real world if they carry on like that. Using the same moves over and over again.'

Aramis laughed, 'even from your sick bed you're plotting against others. The poor lads have only been at it for a few weeks.'

Porthos raised his hand to stop Aramis, 'I know, and I want them better than that...can't be having any more men getting injured.'

'You were fighting four men at once, alone, after a hard day of tracking them. I think you can be forgiven for being injured.'

'Even so, I want them better than they currently are,' concluded Porthos.

Aramis smiled before he spoke again, 'all the more reason to listen to your doctor, and me, and stay off that leg for the next two days...then you can rain hellfire down on those two unsuspecting lads.'

Porthos grinned back, 'I intend to.'

The next two days would fly by, Porthos decided, as he plotted and planned how he was going to deal with the two cadets. Satisfied Porthos picked up the book Aramis had lent him and settled down to complete his recovery.

The End.


	17. Drugged

Chapter Seventeen - Drugged

 **D'Artagnan**

It had been the most stupid thing he had ever done. Why had he let it happen? How had he been taken in by them? The men had been friendly, they had talked amiably. They had asked about the war. He had been happy to talk to them about it. They had bought another bottle of wine. One of the men had refilled his cup. They had toasted him. He had taken a good swig of the wine.

And now he was sat in a cellar, his arms tied behind him as a thumping headache assailed his senses. He was sure the headache was not down to the wine. He had only had one and a half cups. He was sure he had been drugged and that the men who had been drinking with him were responsible.

He did not know why.

D'Artagnan had awoken in the dank cellar a short while ago. He had pushed himself up to sit but could not manage anything else. The room span. He wondered if he would have been better lying back down again. The way he felt he knew he would not be able to push himself up to stand. He felt weak. He tried to move, but the horrible disorientating spinning crashed over him again.

The cellar was quite big, he guessed he was in a large house. Stone steps opposite him led up to a large, heavy looking door. Several torches lit the room. He could not see any wine being stored. The only furniture was a large wooden table with sturdy chairs around it. He could see his doublet and weapons belt lying on the table. Tantalisingly close, but he knew he could not reach them.

D'Artagnan leaned back against the cold stone wall. He wondered how long he had been down in the dank cellar. The only window was small and dirty not letting in any light, he had no idea how long he had been unconscious for. Had he been missed yet? Was anyone looking for him yet? Would they find him?

The tavern he had stopped in was not one that they usually frequented. He remembered going into that tavern with Porthos a couple of times, but not recently. Would his brothers think to ask after him there? Even if he had been seen in the tavern his kidnapping might not have been noticed. He remembered the tavern was busy.

He looked up as the cellar door was pushed open. Several men entered, walking down the stone steps towards him.

D'Artagnan guessed he was about to find out why he had been drugged and taken hostage.

 **Authors note: The next chapter (sort of) follows on…**


	18. Hostage

**Author's note: This one is very short, it follows on from the last chapter.**

Chapter Eighteen - Hostage

 **D'Artagnan-but he's not actually in this (with Athos, Porthos and Aramis)**

Athos looked at his brothers, 'you are clear on the plan?'

Both men nodded, their expressions serious. They had spent several minutes checking their weapons, priming guns and ensuring their swords were perfectly placed on their belts.

'Aramis, you will hang back and take out as many as you can. Keeping them away from Porthos is the priority. When you are out of guns you will join me.'

Aramis nodded. The marksman had managed to get a quick look at the building where their brother was being held, he knew he would have a good vantage point from the top of the steps leading down to the cellar.

'Porthos, your only job is to get to d'Artagnan. Do not worry about either of us. Do not spend time taking on any of them. Time is of the essence. We will not have long once we are in there.'

Porthos nodded. The Musketeer was not keen on leaving his brothers unprotected, but Athos was right, d'Artagnan was injured, they had seen him on their reconnaissance. The young Musketeer had not looked well, he had obviously been beaten by the men who had taken him.

Aramis added, 'grab him and get out, if he is injured or confused force him out. I would rather have him in a slightly worse state and alive than the alternative.'

Both Athos and Porthos nodded.

Athos looked at his brothers again, 'let's go and get him back.'

The End.

 **Authors note: The next chapter follows on from this…**


	19. Exhaustion

**Author's note: This follows on from the previous chapter.**

Chapter Nineteen - Exhaustion

 **Porthos and d'Artagnan**

He had grabbed the unconscious Musketeer amid the sounds of gunshots and clashing swords. He had heard Aramis yelling at Athos to 'get down' at one point. Porthos wondered what had happened but could not dwell on the thought. They had agreed. Porthos' only job was to get d'Artagnan out. Get him out and get him away. Get him back to the garrison.

The younger man had been lying, slumped in the corner of the room. One man had put up some resistance, but Porthos had dealt with him swiftly. The gun spent he had used it as a club on another man who approached him.

Athos and Aramis were clearly playing their part of the plan to the letter. No more men attacked him. A cursory check of d'Artagnan told Porthos that he had been knocked out. A graze to his forehead and an already darkening bruise telling the rescuer all he needed to know.

With no time to check the d'Artagnan for any other injuries, Porthos grabbed his arms and pulled the unconscious man up to a sitting position before bending and pulling him up and over his shoulder.

Porthos rose to his feet and turned. He saw that both his brothers were engaged in sword fights with the remaining enemy men. But the plan meant that Porthos had to leave them to it. They had all agreed, getting d'Artagnan back was the priority. But Porthos did not like the plan despite it being the best one they had. Reluctantly he carried his brother passed the fighting men.

MMMM

It was a long walk across Paris in the darkness. Porthos could not stop, he had to get d'Artagnan back to the garrison. The chances of other enemy agents catching up with them was too great. The enemy could have been anywhere or anyone. The only safe place was the garrison.

Porthos persevered. Carrying a man, a short distance, was not a problem, getting a brother away from the battlefield was simple. But Porthos was carrying a fully-grown man across Paris. At night.

As he walked he realised he was getting slower. But he could not stop. D'Artagnan had to be taken to safety.

Porthos tried to think of other things. But his mind kept returning to his brothers. The unconscious one he was carrying was the least of his worries. Porthos had been forced to leave Athos and Aramis behind, still fighting. Were they alright?

Two streets from the garrison and Porthos started to wonder if he would make it before his legs gave out. But he could not stop.

One street away and his walk was not a walk any longer it was simply a stumble. But he could not stop.

Turning into the garrison Porthos found that he had no choice but to stop. His knees gave way and he crashed down. For a second, he wondered if he would cause the young man he was still carrying further injury.

But his burden was taken from him as he fell. Hands were on his shoulders steadying him, pushing him down to sit on the cobbled ground. Porthos was vaguely aware of d'Artagnan being carried away, towards the infirmary. Someone crouched down next to him handing him a cup of water from which Porthos drank gratefully.

He watched the unconscious man being taken into the infirmary, he knew d'Artagnan was safe. Porthos sighed with relief.

'Well done,' said Treville quietly, 'let us deal with him now.'

The End.

 **Authors note: I might look at expanding this little arc, I think I've left myself with some scope for filling in the rest of the story. I know I'd like to know what's going on.**


	20. Concussion

**Authors note: this is the shortest one. They will get longer again now. Thanks for all your comments on the last few days, I will try to work out what was going on and expand it into a full story.**

Chapter Twenty - Concussion

 **A Musketeer.**

The world was spinning. It was odd how it spun when his eyes were still closed.

Someone was calling to him. Saying his name. Asking him to open his eyes.

He did not want to do that. But the voice was insistent.

A hand on his shoulder shook him slightly.

That hurt.

He wished they would stop.

They did not.

He realised they would stop if he opened his eyes.

Slowly he opened his eyes.

The room was dim. The owner of the voice had thought ahead, closed the shutters, shut out the light.

He was glad.

He still did not know who had told him to open his eyes. He guessed it did not matter, he knew he was in the garrison infirmary and therefore safe.

A hand cupped the back of his head gently, tilted him up slightly. A cup was pressed to his lips. He was told to drink. He did as he was told.

He was allowed to lie back. He was allowed to close his eyes. The voice told him to rest.

The world continued to spin.

The End.


	21. Harsh Climate

Chapter Twenty One - Harsh Climate

Aramis

It was warm in the secluded spot they had found. The sun trapped by the Palace walls, reflected back to heat the grass.

Aramis lay on his back on the grass looking up at her. He had admonished her initially for risking ruining her dress by sitting and then lying next to him. Grass stains would not be becoming on the clothing of the Queen of France. She had playfully told him off as she pushed him fully onto his back and quietened his protests with a kiss.

He had hesitated a few seconds before kissing her back. She had initiated the liaison, he could not go against his Queen's wishes.

Aramis slowly trailed a hand up her arm before stroking his fingers across her perfect cheek. She smiled as she continued to kiss him.

The stolen moment alone would not last. She would go back to the King and her restricted life at the court. He would go back to the garrison and the blood and sweat of soldiering.

But this moment, this moment was bliss.

She pushed away from him, her hand resting gently on his chest, keeping him still. He was her prisoner. He had no issues with being her prisoner.

The warmth of the grass, the reflected sunlight, the hand on his chest. The warmth of her lips on his. He closed his eyes and smiled.

'Why's 'e smilin?'

'Dunno.'

Aramis slowly opened his eyes. He kept the smile on his face as he stared at the two men in front of him.

The soft grass, the solitude of the secret spot, the stolen moment with her all vanished. But the memory lingered. And Aramis knew he could go back there at any moment.

As long as the men kept him tied to the tree under the blazing hot sun, trying, and failing to get him to talk he had his memory of the stolen moment.

Aramis did not know how long he had been there. Long enough to have stopped sweating. The leather doublet, which worked well to keep him warm in the winter had done him no favours since he had been dragged from his horse and beaten by the men.

They had tied him to an exposed tree under the high, hot sun and left him there. They had moved to sit in the shade a few yards away, slowing drinking water from his waterskin.

He knew he would not talk. The men clearly did not. He watched them for a few seconds before closing his eyes again. He wanted to relive that stolen moment.

If he did not talk the men would probably move onto more, involved, tactics to make him talk. He doubted he would get the chance to relieve the stolen moment many more times. He wanted to make the most of the time he had before the men decided to make him talk using other methods.

The End.


	22. Friendly Fire

**Author's note: This one links in with Chapters 17, 18 and 19.**

Chapter Twenty Two - Friendly Fire

 **Athos (with Aramis)**

The ball from the gun grazed across the side of his arm. The injury was slight, not enough to slow his fight. The shot from one of the men in the cellar had not been accurate enough to stop him. The injury stung but did not impede his movement, did not stop him from continuing to fight the two men in front of him. All the shot had done was to remind him that the two men in front of him were not the only ones in the room.

Athos had been aware of other shots ringing out as the fight had started, aware that his brothers were following the plan to the letter. Porthos had surged forward pushing a couple of men back, taking one out as he made his way towards the still form of d'Artagnan. Aramis had hung back, shooting men from the top of the cellar steps. When the marksman ran out of guns he was to join the affray using his sword.

Porthos had scooped up the unfortunate d'Artagnan, slung the unconscious man over his shoulder and made his way out of the cellar. The men who had taken their brother captive all too busy with Aramis and himself to even try to stop Porthos.

There had been a yell from Aramis earlier, but Athos had not been able to tell what he had shouted.

The two men in front of him were tiring, they were untrained. It did not take much more of an effort to take them both out. As they fell to the floor Athos turned, ready to take on any more men. As he turned he saw a body lying behind him, a gunshot wound to the chest, his white shirt stained red as the wound had bled profusely. The man was still clutching a sharp knife in his right hand held in such a way that when the man was alive the blade could have been thrust into a man in order to maim or kill. Athos realised the blade had been meant for him. Aramis must have seen the man, which caused him to shout out and had obviously shot the man before he could stab Athos in the back.

Grateful, Athos turned to find Aramis staring at him, sword in one hand, gun in the other. Aramis looked shocked. Athos would have expected to see his brother going from body to body, ensuring the men were dead, perhaps making the sign of the cross and praying for their souls. But Aramis continued to stare at Athos.

Athos realised what had happened. Aramis had seen the knifeman about to stab him. The shot from Aramis was what had grazed Athos' arm.

'I...I didn't…' Aramis was struggling to speak.

Athos looked back at the man lying at his feet. He guessed that the shout from Aramis was to warn him about the man, but Athos had been busy fighting, he must have taken a step back at the moment Aramis fired. His brother had accidentally hit him.

'You were aiming at him. I stepped back. Aramis, it was an accident.'

'But I shot you…'

Aramis had paled significantly.

'I could have killed you…'

Athos rolled his eyes, annoyed that Aramis was blaming himself for causing the slight injury.

'Aramis, if you had not fired I would have been killed by him.'

Aramis glanced at the man on the floor for a few seconds before looking back up at Athos.

'I know, but…'

Athos almost laughed, his friend was struggling to accept what he had done, what he had nearly done.

'I'd managed to push one of them away from me when I saw him about to stab you...I yelled but you didn't hear,' said Aramis, 'I had no choice. I had to be quick.'

Athos had walked up to Aramis, he rested his hands on Aramis' shoulders and looked the man firmly in the eyes.

'It was an accident, the ball barely touched me, it did not stop me fighting.'

Aramis nodded slowly, although he still looked a little shocked.

'You are the best marksman I know, Aramis, you still managed to hit your mark. You still saved me.'

'But…'

Athos rolled his eyes again as he pulled his scarf from his neck and handed it to Aramis.

'Since you feel so guilty for shooting me, your punishment is to deal with the injury,' he said as he began to undo his weapons belt and doublet.

'But I would have dealt with it anyway…'

'I know.'

The End.


	23. Self Sacrifice

Chapter Twenty Three - Self-sacrifice

 **Aramis (with d'Artagnan, Athos and Porthos)**

'But I can't get it any cheaper, Captain,' said Serge with a sigh. 'And this lot needs feeding proper if they're gonna protect the Royal family.'

Treville nodded, 'I know, but see what you can do. I don't like to complain; the King will only see it as another excuse to put up taxes.'

'And that ain't gonna solve anything,' agreed Serge before he wandered off to the storeroom.

Treville watched the old soldier for a few seconds. Aramis, who had been waiting nearby for orders stepped forwards.

'Perhaps you should ration Porthos,' he suggested with a grin.

Treville shook his head, 'at this rate I may be rationing you all.'

The men looked towards the garrison gates as both Porthos and d'Artagnan hurried through.

'The Red Guard garrison was burgled last night,' said d'Artagnan as the stopped.

'What was taken?' asked Treville with concern.

'Gunpowder, and a lot of it,' replied Porthos. 'The Cardinal is seething. He's ordered his men to search and the King has given orders for us to help.'

Porthos handed Treville a letter with a Royal seal. Aramis read the order over his Captain's shoulder. The Musketeers were to search one half of the city with the Red Guard dealing with the other.

'I'll draw up a plan,' said Treville, 'send you all out in small groups. With luck, we can recover the powder before it has been split up and shipped out of the city.'

MMMM

The four of them spread out to search the market. Athos knew it would take time to check every corner, under all the stalls, behind and within all the carts. He spotted Aramis talking to a few street boys across the market. The lads were talking animatedly and pointing in different directions. It was clear their information was not useful, Athos shook his head as the generous Musketeer still gave each boy a coin for his troubles before sending them on their way. He looked up, making eye contact with Athos and shook his head. Both men continued to search.

They could not be too obvious with their search, they did not want the people of Paris to know that their soldiers had allowed themselves to be burgled. Even though it was the Red Guard and not the Musketeers who had suffered the loss would still reflect badly on the protectors of the Royal Family.

A movement towards the darker end of the market caught Athos' eye. A figure covered in a dark cloak ran from behind a makeshift screen that had been erected by a couple of stall holders to stop people coming up behind them in order to steal. Athos moved around slowly, being careful not to attract the attention of the locals.

Athos made eye contact with d'Artagnan who was with Porthos on the far side of the market and nodded towards the area he was heading in. D'Artagnan nodded and turned to speak to Porthos who looked across to where Athos was.

Athos reached the screen and looked behind it. A wall of crates was positioned across the cobbled ground, blocking the way forward. Athos checked behind him, when he was sure no one was looking in his direction he clambered up a couple of the crates and peered over the top. Sure enough, the gunpowder barrels were stacked up behind the crates. Worryingly there were trails of gunpowder leading under the makeshift screen towards the market. He looked down and saw another couple of trails leading under the crates and in the direction the cloaked figure had gone.

'It is there?' asked Aramis from behind Athos.

Athos twisted around to see Aramis busy breaking the line of gunpowder by scuffing his boots through them. Once satisfied the marksman looked up.

Athos nodded, 'we need to find whoever put this here. It has been done deliberately.'

'I'll destroy any other lines of powder first,' replied Aramis as he moved away and disappeared further into the centre of the market.

Athos stepped off the crate and walked back out towards Porthos and d'Artagnan.

'Someone wanted to cause an explosion here,' he said quietly to the two Musketeers. 'Aramis is dealing with the gunpowder, but the thief is probably still nearby. Spread out to search.'

Athos was about to move away but found himself prevented by d'Artagnan gripping his arm and pointing upwards towards one of the buildings that bordered the market. Athos looked in the same direction.

The bright, dancing flame of a lit arrow, pulled back ready to fire from a bow, could be seen in a high window. All three men knew immediately what was about to happen. All pretence of a quiet search was abandoned.

MMMM

Evacuating the market had become the most important thing. D'Artagnan knew they probably only had seconds and that panic from the Parisians was inevitable. Porthos yelled for people to move. All three of them shouted as people began to scream and run.

Athos had taken off in the direction of the archer. D'Artagnan saw him disappear into the building, hoping he would be in time to stop the burning arrow being fired at the gunpowder, but knowing he would not be.

People continued to rush about, confused and scared. An old man was knocked to the ground in front of d'Artagnan, he pulled the frail man up and helped him away all the time urging people to leave the market.

The explosion, when it came, knocked all those still in the market to the ground. A rush of heat spread above them before receding back to the source of the explosion.

D'Artagnan pushed himself up onto his knees. The old man was trying to get up. D'Artagnan helped him reach his feet. A couple of women stepped forward and took the old man away. D'Artagnan nodded his thanks as he turned to survey the damage.

The building that the gunpowder had been next to was now so badly damaged it would have to be destroyed and rebuilt. Windows had been knocked out all the way around the market square. Debris lay across everything.

The human cost did not seem high. The panicked people had at least been running away from the explosion. People were pushing themselves off the ground and brushing themselves off. There were a few cries of pain, but all the injured people were being tended to. Small groups of people were forming around anyone who had not managed to get themselves to their feet.

They had been very lucky thought d'Artagnan.

MMMM

Athos found his way back to the market square. He had still been climbing the stairs when the explosion had rocked the building and blown out the windows. He had reached the room where the archer had been to find it empty. Athos had decided that there was no point trying to find the man who no doubt had already planned an escape route.

Seeing the devastation in front of him Athos took a moment to work out what needed doing first. He decided that finding his brothers was his priority. They could then coordinate what was to be done.

Porthos was helping a couple of injured men to climb onto the back of a cart as Athos approached him.

'Many casualties?' asked Athos.

'A few,' replied Porthos, 'most were heading away from the point of the blast. I've seen at least two dead and a few with serious injuries...it could 'ave been a lot worse.'

Porthos had grazes on one side of his face and was rubbing at his arm as he spoke.

'Have you seen Aramis?' asked d'Artagnan who walked over to them. 'He would have been directly in front of the blast, but I can't see him anywhere.'

Concerned the three men spread out and started to look for their brother. At Porthos' shout, Athos and d'Artagnan rushed over.

Aramis was lying sprawled across the cobbles. Porthos, who had knelt beside his friend was helping a small boy to stand. It was clear that Aramis had used his own body to shield the boy from the blast. The boy blinked a few times as he got to his feet. He stared at the three Musketeers for a few seconds before breaking free of Porthos and running off losing himself within the crowd a few seconds later.

A groan from Aramis had them return their attention to him. Several pieces of debris had embedded themselves into Aramis' back and legs. A piece of flying glass was still protruding from the back of his hand where he had tried to shield his head as he and the boy had fallen to the floor.

'Aramis?' asked Porthos as he lay a hand on his brother's arm.

All Aramis could manage was another groan. He was blinking and did not seem focused, but his eyes did betray that he was in pain.

'We need to get him to the infirmary and a doctor as soon as possible,' said Athos.

MMMM

Despite knowing that they could not simply pick their injured brother up and leave the market square, Porthos knew that they all wanted to do just that. But they were soldiers and they were professionals. D'Artagnan remained by Aramis talking to him, trying to keep him awake and assess where his assortment of injuries were. Porthos and Athos had reluctantly gone back to helping the citizens of the city that had been caught up in the blast.

As soon as reinforcements had arrived they commandeered a cart and gently lay the injured man on the hard, wooden base. Aramis had tried to stand but failed miserably, d'Artagnan had told him off for even attempting the move.

Now they were in the garrison infirmary. Treville had taken one look at Aramis and nodded to them. He muttered something about them all being injured to some degree and therefore were of no use in the continued search for the perpetrator, at least not for a few hours. Each of them had nodded their thanks to the Captain and returned their attention to Aramis.

The doctor, a good man who was often called to the garrison when a Musketeer was injured to such an extent that they could not deal with it themselves, was quietly talking to Aramis. The plump, middle-aged man had crouched down by Aramis who had been laid face down on the table. The doctor smiled, squeezed Aramis' arm and rose to stand. As the doctor stood up Aramis closed his eyes. Porthos knew his friend had been fighting to stay conscious, perhaps out of dedication despite being in no state to further help at the market.

'He agreed that we have no choice but to cut his doublet off, he won't remonstrate with you,' the doctor said with a smile. 'He's got movement in all his limbs, and I think, provided we are careful as we remove the debris and clean the wounds well, he will be fine. It will be painful and difficult for him but with your help, he will recover.'

'Thank you,' said Athos.

They worked in unison to deal with their injured brother. The doctor directed them to carefully cut the ruined clothes off Aramis, taking their time, leaving the protruding bits of wood and glass for the doctor to deal with. The doctor gave Porthos the job of washing the wounds ready for stitching where necessary.

What felt like hours later to Porthos they finished. Aramis remained unconscious throughout their ministration for which they were grateful. After carefully moving him to a bed the Musketeers took stock. Porthos had lost count of the number of stitches the doctor had put in. There were several bandages around various parts of Aramis' body and bruises were showing starkly against the injured man's skin.

'If one of you can stay with him, I don't want him moving about too much,' said the doctor as he rinsed his hands in a bowl of clean water. 'He can move to lie on his side to eat but otherwise, at least for a couple of days he really needs to stay as he is. He won't be able to sit easily due to the injuries on his back. He should be alright to stand, but he will be weak and in pain so please don't leave him alone. We don't want our hard work undone by him collapsing and pulling the stitches.'

Athos and d'Artagnan did not even try to suggest that they sit with Aramis first. Porthos just took a seat and settled himself beside his brother.

The doctor squeezed Porthos shoulder as he walked towards the door, 'I'll be back tomorrow to check on him, I will come sooner if he develops a fever...but let us hope he does not.'

Porthos said, 'thank you.'

'I'll bring you some food,' said d'Artagnan as he followed Athos and the doctor from the room, 'and I'll ask Serge to make some broth, I doubt Aramis will want a proper meal when he wakes.'

Porthos watched Athos escorting the doctor from the garrison as d'Artagnan disappeared towards the infirmary.

'Did the boy survive?'

Porthos looked back at Aramis. The mumbled words clear enough for him to have understood. He shook his head. The injured, no doubt in pain, Musketeer was more interested in the boy he had saved than himself.

'Keep still,' said Porthos when Aramis tried to move.

'The boy?'

Aramis tried to move again, Porthos was forced to lay a hand on his friend's shoulder to still him.

'The boy ran off, he seemed fine...what happened? Can you remember?'

Aramis blinked a few times before replying.

'The market...explosion…' he paused, taking a few shaky breathes, 'I saw the arrow...knew there was no time...the boy was just there. He must have become separated from his parents.'

'You saved his life,' said Porthos.

Aramis was asleep again within a few moments. The brief spell of consciousness had reassured Porthos that what the doctor had said was true. His brother would be alright, in time.

MMMM

Aramis had managed to twist himself to lie on his side. Being able to make the move on his own had felt like a major achievement. He had hated being so reliant on his brothers over the last few days. When he had properly woken up the pain had been almost unbearable. He had almost wished he could fall into unconsciousness until the pain went away. He could not move very much due to the stitches and had to be helped to do anything. The first time Porthos had helped him up to stand had seen him nearly pass out several times.

The doctor had returned daily to check and redress the worst wounds. The fact that the doctor could see no signs of infection had been well received.

And now he just had to wait. Wait for the wounds to heal. Wait until he could be back on his feet properly. On his own, without help.

He was facing the door of the infirmary, reading a book, it was about all he could do for himself. That and slowly reach forward for the cup of water on the table beside the bed.

The door was pushed open. Aramis watched, a little confused, as Treville walked in followed by a man he did not know. The man was followed by a small boy. The boy, his hand clasped firmly by the man was wide-eyed.

Aramis stared at the boy. The boy looked at him for a few seconds before shying away and pressing himself into the man's leg. Aramis guessed the man was the boy's father. The man, in his thirties, looked a little apprehensive.

'Aramis,' said Treville, 'I'm glad we've found you awake. This is Monsieur Simon Babin, he is young Jean's father.'

Aramis managed a smile, 'I recognise Jean.'

Babin took a step forward, the young boy hid behind his father.

'Monsieur, I'm sorry it's taken us so long to come and thank you...'

'You didn't need to thank me-'

'...we did, Monsieur, Jean...he...when he got back to us he was so scared. He was trembling. He didn't speak for two days.'

Jean had crept out slightly from behind his father, he stared at Aramis. The Musketeer could tell the boy recognised him. He smiled as warmly as he could.

'When he finally was able to tell us what had happened and he described the man who had saved him...my wife...she recognised your description.'

Aramis saw Treville raise his eyebrows at the comment.

'Jean is our only child...Monsieur we cannot thank you enough for what you did.'

'It really was nothing…'

'Aramis, it was hardly nothing, from what the others have said you could have got further away. You sacrificed yourself to save Jean.'

Treville was almost admonishing in his tone.

'Is there anything that you need monsieur?' asked Simon.

Aramis shook his head. Treville sighed.

'You could make them some bread papa,' said Jean, his small voice barely loud enough over the noises of the cadets outside the infirmary.

'They don't need bread Jean,' said Simon with a smile.

'Actually…' said Treville.

Aramis watched as Treville and Simon talked for a few minutes about the cost of bread. Jean spent the time creeping ever closer to Aramis eventually standing by the bed.

'Thank you for helping me...I'm sorry I ran away…'

Aramis managed to reach out and stroke the boy's arm.

'You were scared...it's alright.'

'Jean, let's go. We need to let Monsieur Aramis rest.'

Aramis winked at the boy who managed a smile before turning and rushing back to his father's side.

Treville saw the baker and his son out of the infirmary before returning to Aramis.

'He's just offered us a much better deal on bread than Serge has managed to get. You need to save a few more merchants children, Aramis.'

Aramis chuckled, 'as long as it is not quite this painful each time I will gladly oblige.'

Treville pulled up a chair and settled beside his Musketeer, Aramis blinked a few times, knowing he was falling asleep again.

'We'll work out what we need next when you are recovered. For now, rest. There will be no more self-sacrificing today.'

Aramis soon lost the battle to stay awake.

The End.

 **Authors note: Twee and predictable or what!**


	24. Drowning

**Authors note: Thanks again for all the comments. This is the prequel to 'Hypothermia'.**

Chapter Twenty Four - Drowning

 **Athos**

Stumbling backwards had not been the plan, Athos inexplicably thought as he fell. Stumbling backwards into a cold river was very much not part of the plan. And yet that was exactly what he had done.

A scream of his name from one of his brothers as he fell the last thing he knew before he hit the water. Disorientated, he spent those first few seconds desperately trying not to gasp as the cold water soaked him. He could not gasp. If he gasped he would die. He would drown.

Athos created a mantra; 'do not breath'. He was underwater, he had to break the surface, then he could gasp in shock, but not before. The breath, when he allowed it, was deep. The water reclaimed him for a few more seconds before he could keep his head up.

The river was wide, and deep, and fast flowing. Somehow he managed to miss the rocks, the water swirling him passed out of reach. He might have hit one and been badly injured or he might have hit one and been able to grab onto it, stopping his unwelcome journey.

There was no chance of swimming. His clothes were too restrictive. If he could have done he would have shed his weapons belt to prevent it from dragging him down again.

Buffeted around he tried to look for his brothers. The fight had been all but over, surely one or more of them would be chasing after him. Aramis knew the area, he would know of places where he could be pulled out.

Athos chuckled, actually chuckled, he knew, that he would be saved, there was no chance they would let him die. Not like this. He was destined to die on the battlefield as any good soldier should.

If not the battlefield, he would die old and grey. He would not die after a group of bandits had decided that Musketeers were worth robbing.

It was cold as he was twisted around on the currents. His fingers were already stiff, he could not open and close his hands. Odd that he should worry about such things when his whole life was in danger.

There was no sign of the others. His brothers had not been able to keep up with him. Was there to be no rescue?

His hurtled movement through the water slowed slightly. Did his foot drag on the bottom of the river? Again his foot hit the bottom, he tried to dig his heels in but could not; the water still too fast. But the river bed seemed to be coming up to meet him. The river was getting shallower.

He managed to twist over, he had not really thought about the position he was in, he had been floating along on his back. Now that he had turned over he realised the river was not quite the torrent it had been.

But he could do nothing to help himself. Turning had worn him out, he was too cold, he could not even attempt to swim. In the now shallow water, he could probably stand. Probably. But he would not find out, he was too weak. He would continue to float along, unable to stop himself. He would drown. He was going to die, not on the battlefield or old and grey. He was going to die, cold and exhausted after a pointless affray with a group of bandits.

Athos sent up a silent apology to his brothers for failing to keep himself alive for them.

The End.

 **Authors note: remember this is a prequel to 'Hypothermia' I've not just killed him off!**


	25. Restraint

Chapter Twenty Five - Restraints

 **Aramis**

Aramis wondered if they would forgive him. He had rushed in, not thinking. And now he was about to pay for his lack of restraint.

The ugly man tightened the strap around Aramis' right wrist, all the time sneering at him. Aramis stared back as defiantly as he could. As the man moved behind him to tighten the other strap Aramis could not help looking at the lash the man held. It was dangling loosely in the man's hand, the tendrils trailing on the ground.

Aramis knew what was in store for him. The men who had overpowered him had made a simple proposition. He was to tell them what he knew or they would lash him. Aramis had told them, truthfully, that he had no information. The next thing he knew the men were roughly pulling his doublet and shirt off and pinning him to the cold, stone wall of the ruined church and had used belts to stop him from moving. The original fittings of the church providing useful hooks. The position he was in was uncomfortable, but Aramis knew that would pale into insignificance compared to what was to come.

There had been no further attempts by the men to extract information from him. Aramis suspected the men had intended to lash him if he had given them information or not. He also knew, once they had finished having their fun, they would kill him. He tried to pull at the straps holding him against the wall. The man had tightened them to the point that he was already starting to lose the feeling in his hands, his arms hurt, stretched out and slightly upwards. Aramis decided he was generally miserable. And it was about to get worse.

He could hear the ugly sneering man making a few practice swings with the lash. A couple of the other men chuckled. He heard a thud as a wine bottle was put back on the big table behind him. His weapons were on that table, thought Aramis, so tantalisingly close, but utterly useless.

The first time the lash hit him was a shock. He had expected a little preamble from the men, but they seemed keen to get on with their entertainment. Aramis gasped, pain radiated out from wherever the thin knotted leather straps had struck his back and side. Several more blows were struck across his back in quick succession.

He tried not to cry out, but he failed.

Struggling to remain standing and not simply slump Aramis was brought to his senses by a gunshot. A familiar voice yelled his name. Porthos. But more than just Porthos, his other brothers were there as well.

Aramis could not twist around to see what was happening behind him. Three more gunshots were fired before the unmistakable sound of swords being drawn and the clash of blade on blade rang out.

A fierce battle was being waged to his right, Athos, he guessed, perhaps fighting two men, his main gauche being used as much as his sword. Directly behind him, he heard a thud followed by a gurgled whimper. Porthos had probably not even got around to drawing his sword, he would be using the butt of his gun and his fists to start with, and whatever else came to hand. To his left, d'Artagnan was fighting someone who was good with a sword. But Aramis knew that d'Artagnan would be better, the young Musketeer, who was light on his feet and fought with a style reminiscent of Athos, but with his own adaptations would win out.

All Aramis had to do was wait. He listened. Aramis tried to remember how many men had attacked him. He tried to count them as they fell. He soon lost count. A few shouts from his brothers distracted him. The odd warning to one another, one cry of pain which worried him and then silence.

A silence that seemed to stretch forever.

Had something gone wrong?

Had his brothers lost?

Had there been too many men for them to take on?

Footsteps approached him. A hand touched his back.

Aramis did not know who was behind him.

The End.


	26. Broken Ribs

Chapter Twenty Six - Broken Ribs

 **Porthos (with Aramis)**

Porthos winced. He clutched his arm around his chest as he tried to walk normally. He knew he had a cut to his forehead that was bleeding, the sight probably making him look a little scary. Several of the early rises of the city were staring at him and avoiding him as though he had the plague.

He stumbled on. It had been his own fault. He had definitely picked the wrong men to cheat at cards. Oddly he had not realised the men were together. They had ganged up on him. Three to one. Not unbeatable odds. If he had been prepared.

He had stepped out of the tavern saying he would be back in a couple of minutes. Of course, he was off, taking his winnings before they realised he had been cheating. Only the men already knew and were simply biding their time. As he stole away into the night he turned into an alleyway to take a shortcut and was grabbed, tripped to the ground and given a good going over. There had been nothing he could do to prevent the kicks to his body and head.

When he had come around, as dawn began to wake the city, his money and weapons were gone. Struggling to his feet Porthos had known he had cracked ribs, he could not take a proper breath. Blinking he had begun the walk back to the garrison.

Rounding the corner he walked through the gates wondering who he would meet first.

'Well you are a sorry sight, my friend,' said Aramis who had been rubbing down his horse.

Porthos just looked at him, waiting for what was to come.

'Are you expecting me to berate you?' asked his friend.

Porthos could not hide the look of guilt.

'I'm not Athos or Treville...it's not as if I never get myself in...awkward situations.'

Porthos watched Aramis say a few quiet words to his horse, wondering if the medic was apologising to his mare for abandoning her. The horse snorted and appeared to nod her head before going back to the hay she had been eating.

Brushing the straw from his doublet Aramis crossed the yard to Porthos looking him up and down as he walked.

'Ribs?'

Porthos nodded.

Aramis looked critically at the cut to Porthos' head for a few seconds before looking him in the eyes.

'You know that is going to need stitches. If you push me over or hit me whilst I'm putting them in I will thump you back.'

'Sorry,' replied Porthos remembering the last time Aramis had stitched him up.

With a hand laid gently at the small of his back, Aramis guided Porthos towards the infirmary.

'I thought you were good at cards...without having to cheat? Or is it the danger, the possibility of being caught? Perhaps we should find you a genuine battle to fight in…'

Porthos remained quiet as his friend continued to talk. He knew Aramis was trying to keep him distracted. He allowed the man to tend to him, stripping him of his doublet and shirt, cleaning the cuts and grazes, applying a salve to the bruises and preparing to stitch his head.

'Thank you,' said Porthos quietly.

'Thank me by being more careful next time,' replied Aramis with a smile.

Porthos managed a smile in return, both men knew there would be a next time.

Some things never changed.

The End.


	27. I can't walk

Chapter Twenty Seven - 'I can't walk.'

 **Porthos (with d'Artagnan and Aramis)**

'What did you do to annoy them so much?' asked d'Artagnan as he continued to struggle to undo the ropes around Porthos' knees.

'He answered them back,' replied Aramis before Porthos could speak, 'earned himself a smack on the face as well.'

'They were threatening you,' said Porthos indignantly.

'I can fight my own battles-'

'Not when you're unconscious,' Porthos said butting in.

'Well, they certainly punished you with these ropes. I wish we had a knife.'

'Ah-ha,' said Aramis triumphantly as the ropes keeping Porthos' arms behind his back finally loosened.

'Can you start work on his ankles?' asked d'Artagnan as he started to ease the rope around Porthos' knees loose.

As Porthos rubbed his wrists he said, 'how did you get free?'

'The man who was trying to escort me to their leader was...interested in me...I used it to my advantage...' replied d'Artagnan.

Porthos stared at the younger man, 'are you alright?'

D'Artagnan grinned, 'I am...but he isn't.'

Aramis chuckled, 'whatever works. You got free, that's the main thing.'

'I think I've got this one now,' said d'Artagnan after a few more seconds attacking the ropes binding Porthos.

'These as well,' said Aramis.

'Good, can we go now? The sooner we can get out of this place the better,' Porthos said as tried to move his legs to stand.

'What?'

Porthos furrowed his brow, 'I can't move my legs.'

Aramis rubbed his hands along Porthos' limbs before saying, 'the ropes were tight, Lemay once told me that if the blood is stopped from flowing it can cause problems.'

'My legs hurt,' said Porthos as the feeling began to return to his limbs.

'What do we do?' asked d'Artagnan looking at Aramis.

'I can't walk,' said Porthos before Aramis answered.

Aramis wrapped his hand around Porthos ankle, 'you can feel that?'

Porthos nodded, 'the sensation is coming back, just slowly and painfully.'

'This is your own fault, and I intend to make you pay for putting us in further danger,' said Aramis as he hooked his arm under Porthos' and nodded to d'Artagnan to do the same.

'But I was stopping them from hurting you…'

'And I am grateful for that...but I am not pleased that they turned their attention on you.'

'Next time I'll just let them hurt you then.'

'What were they going to do to him?' asked d'Artagnan as he pushed the door open and helped Porthos to shuffle out.

Porthos did not reply.

'Porthos?' said Aramis.

'They wanted to see if you would react to them slicing into you whilst you were unconscious.'

'Oh,' said Aramis.

D'Artagnan smiled, 'I think that was him apologising for having a go at you.'

The End.


	28. Severe Illness

Chapter Twenty Eight - Severe Illness

 **D'Artagnan and Aramis (with Athos and Porthos)**

Bernard looked the soldiers up and down. The Musketeers looked capable enough but there were only four of them. Bernard had fifteen men. The Musketeers would not stand a chance, they might be able to take out a few of his men but not enough. And the youngest of the soldiers did not look well, he was clearly sweating and looked as though he was struggling to remain standing.

'You need to leave here,' said one of the Musketeers who Bernard suspected was the leader of the four.

'You can't fight us all,' replied Bernard, 'why don't you just shove off and let us finish what we started.'

'Because that ain't right,' said one of the other soldiers, the one with the scar across his eye.

The leader was about to speak again but was interrupted by the younger one collapsing to the ground. The fourth soldier grabbed him as he fell and eased him to the ground gently. The scarred man took a couple of steps back.

'D'Artagnan?' said the fourth soldier with concern. 'I think it's the same as the villagers have.'

The scarred man took another couple of steps away, he pulled his gun as he did so.

'Porthos,' said the leader, 'what are you doing?'

The scarred man, Porthos, was backing away from his comrades.

'I ain't catching it,' he said.

Bernard noticed that several of his men were shuffling away, he realised he had taken an unconscious step back himself. Whatever this d'Artagnan had was serious.

The ill man was trying to get up but being kept still by the man who was knelt beside him.

Porthos raised his gun and aimed at the young man who looked terrified, holding out his hand weakly.

Bernard watched as Porthos' face took on a sorrowful expression.

'I'm sorry, d'Artagnan, but you're dying anyway.'

'Porthos! NO!' yelled the other Musketeer.

But it was too late, Porthos had fired his gun. The young musketeer slumped to the ground. The man knelt next to him leaned over him for a few seconds before sitting back on his heels and looking back. The man had blood on his hands.

'He's dead.'

Bernard looked back to Porthos who was reloading his gun.

The fourth soldier was watching him shocked. Porthos had tears in his eyes.

'I'm sorry Aramis...but you've touched him...it's just...too contagious.'

The fourth soldier started to stand, his bloody hands held out in submission. The leader of the four had turned to Porthos.

'You do not have to do this. He might not be infected. Aramis is your best friend.'

Porthos glanced at the leader for a second before refocusing on Aramis who was still standing by the body of the younger Musketeer.

'Porthos, ple-'

Bernard flinched as Porthos fired again. Aramis stumbled back, knocked against the body and fell to the ground slightly twisted away from them. The Musketeer did not move again.

MMMM

 _A few hours earlier…_

The villager who had petitioned the King for help led them towards the largest building. Several curious locals watched them pass. D'Artagnan smiled at a couple of young lads who looked in awe of the four soldiers as they passed on their impressive mounts.

The two lads followed the four and took the reins of the horses as each man dismounted.

'See that they are stabled and fed,' said a stout middle-aged man as he approached the group.

The two lads nodded and after allowing the Musketeers to retrieve their saddlebags took the horses towards a stable, beside the blacksmiths a few yards away.

'This is Gardinier, he's the one who suggested we ask the King for help,' said Macon.

'I am pleased it worked, Monsieurs,' said Gardinier as he shook hands with each of them.

D'Artagnan looked around the village for a few seconds, 'how long have the attacks been happening for?'

'As I am sure Macon told you,' said Gardinier, 'they first came two months ago. To start with it was just thefts. But they moved on to robberies, an elderly woman was pushed to the ground and had a ring pulled from her finger. Then they attacked a couple of young women…'

The man lapsed into silence for a few seconds.

'We do not have any trained men to fight back. Macon and a couple of the other men tried to confront them but were beaten for their troubles.'

Macon looked at the ground, d'Artagnan felt sorry for the amiable man. He had talked with enthusiasm about his small farm as they had ridden to the village. But now that he was back it was clear that he and the rest of the villagers were fighting a losing battle against the group of bandits who had started to prey on the village.

'We will do what we can Monsieur,' said Athos.

Porthos, who had wandered around the village with Aramis walked back to the group.

'How many of them are there?' he asked.

'Sometimes it is small groups picking on one or two of us, but I've seen about fifteen, there may be more. We've not worked out where they're coming from.'

Porthos nodded before looking around again. Athos looked at him.

'You have an idea?'

Porthos nodded with a grin, 'I'm not sure how popular it will be though.'

D'Artagnan noticed that Porthos glanced at him as he spoke. He was intrigued.

MMMM

Athos knew that Porthos could come up with very good plans, but the one he had proposed was risky. If it did not work, they would be at a serious disadvantage. But it was the only plan they had and he had not been able to come up with a better one. The stage was set. All they needed was the players.

As if on cue a group of men approached the village spreading themselves out to show their strength. Athos counted sixteen men. Even he knew that the odds would be against them in a fight. Athos glanced at Porthos who looked a little apprehensive for a second. D'Artagnan, who was stood on Porthos' right was visibly shaking. Athos hoped the plan would work.

One of the group of men stepped forward, he wore tatty clothes but his were slightly better than the rest of the men. Athos decided the man was their leader, or at least their spokesman.

Athos stepped forward, 'you need to leave here.'

'You can't fight us all,' replied the leader of the group of men, 'why don't you just shove off and let us finish what we started.'

'Because that ain't right,' said Porthos, barely disguising his disgust of the men.

Without warning, d'Artagnan collapsed. Aramis was quick, grabbing the man before he hit the ground. Both Porthos and Athos looked around. D'Artagnan did not look well.

MMMM

As d'Artagnan fell he was glad Aramis had grabbed him. The plan was for him to fall limply, to not stop his fall. He had to trust Aramis' quick reactions. Aramis, who despite knowing that there was nothing wrong with d'Artagnan acted as if there was.

'D'Artagnan?' Aramis said with concern in his voice, as he quickly pulled off his gloves and began to feel his head and neck, before turning back to Athos and Porthos. 'I think it's the same as the villagers have.'

D'Artagnan had closed his eyes a little to show that he was ill. But he could see enough to watch Porthos back off, pulling his gun at the same time. D'Artagnan knew the gun was loaded, but he trusted his brothers implicitly.

'Porthos,' said Athos, 'what are you doing?'

Porthos continued to back away, his gun held at his side, he looked between Athos, Aramis and himself. D'Artagnan was sure the man was crying or at least his eyes were full of unshed tears.

'I ain't catching it,' Porthos said, his voice cracking with emotion.

D'Artagnan knew it was his turn again, he tried to sit up, reaching out towards Porthos and Athos. Aramis rested his hand on d'Artagnan's chest, stopping him from moving any further. The bandits looked confused. A few were moving away, talking quietly amongst themselves. D'Artagnan hoped the plan was working, it certainly seemed to be having the desired effect.

Porthos raised his gun and aimed at d'Artagnan, who affected a look of fear. He would never admit it to the others but d'Artagnan did feel a little apprehensive, having a loaded weapon aimed at him, knowing what was going to happen next. Porthos had suggested not actually loading his gun but Athos had reminded him that if the bandits did not believe their story it would leave him without a gun to fire.

Porthos' face took on a sorrowful expression, d'Artagnan was sure the man was crying. The act was very convincing.

'I'm sorry, d'Artagnan, but you're dying anyway.'

Aramis yelled, 'Porthos! NO!'

Porthos fired the gun, d'Artagnan fell back to the ground. Aramis leaned over him, tipping the contents of the small bottle over his doublet before dragging his hands through it. D'Artagnan heard Aramis say a quiet 'well done' before he turned back towards Porthos and the rest of the people watching.

'He's dead,' said Aramis, holding out his hands as if to confirm what he had said.

D'Artagnan could only listen to what went on. He knew that Porthos would be reloading the gun. He was aware of Aramis climbing to his feet.

Porthos spoke again, 'I'm sorry Aramis...but you've touched him...it's just...too contagious.'

'You do not have to do this. He might not be infected. Aramis is your best friend,' said Athos who had injected a sense of emergency to his voice.

There was a pause which seemed to stretch forever before Aramis started to speak again.

'Porthos, ple-'

D'Artagnan had to remain still. He felt Aramis knock into him before he fell, hard, to the ground lying over his legs. D'Artagnan could feel Aramis' shallow breaths but otherwise, his friend remained still.

Now it was Porthos' turn to really sell the act.

MMMM

Athos watched Aramis fall, a little harder than he had expected. The soldier would probably have bruised himself, but if it helped to sell the pretence Athos doubted Aramis would mind a few bruises. Both the 'dead' Musketeers remained still, where they had fallen. Porthos sniffed and wiped at his eyes. Athos was impressed with Porthos' ability to cry on cue, although he would not ask his friend how he was able to do so.

'Just like the others,' said Porthos, 'sorry, I...just couldn't see them go through that, the days of sickness only to die anyway.'

Athos glanced at the leader of the bandits whose eyes were flicking between the bodies and Porthos who was still standing staring at the men he had supposedly killed.

'When did it start?'

Athos turned to the man, he rested a hand on Porthos' slumped shoulders giving the grieving Musketeer reassurance.

'A day ago, it is fast acting. The villagers that caught it were dead within twelve hours.'

Athos felt Porthos' shoulders tense up a little and realised he had just contradicted what his friend had said. The bandit did not appear to have noticed.

'We did not notice d'Artagnan becoming ill,' continued Athos, '...and Aramis...well Pothos is correct the illness spreads quickly and is very contagious. He probably would have become ill after touching d'Artagnan.'

Porthos sniffed again, looking down.

Athos turned to Porthos and said quietly, 'I am sorry my friend, you probably did the right thing.'

Porthos nodded before wiping the tears from his eyes and turning back towards the bandits. Athos did the same. The leader looked very unsure of himself. Some of the men had now taken several steps back.

'I ain't goin' in there if there's sickness…' muttered a man near the leader.

'Don't follow us,' said the leader as he made up his own mind to back away with his men.

Athos hid a smile as the man walked off with frequent glances back. Porthos slipped his gun back into his belt and spoke again, loud enough for the retreating men to hear.

'We'd best get on and burn the bodies…'

Athos remained where he was until the men were out of sight before speaking quietly.

'Stay where you are for a few minutes, we need to be sure they are gone.'

D'Artagnan replied, 'this is not particularly comfortable.'

Porthos sniggered, 'just think yourself lucky we ain't really going to burn you.'

Athos walked a few paces in the direction the bandits had taken. One of the young boys who had taken their horses ran up to him.

'They've gone, Monsieur,' he said panting as he caught his breath, 'Macon told me to tell you, they've mounted up and ridden off...not even bothered to pack their things up.'

'Does that mean we can get up now,' said Aramis, his voice muffled by his position lying across d'Artagnan's legs.

Porthos stepped towards the two prone Musketeers.

'I think you can rise from the dead now.'

MMMM

Porthos helped his friends up. Aramis rubbed at his arm.

'I was lying on it,' he said by way of explanation.

'You fell heavily,' said Athos as he returned to them.

Aramis nodded, 'I was standing closer to d'Artagnan than I realised, my death was not quite as controlled as I had planned...sorry I, think I kicked you as I fell.'

D'Artagnan nodded, 'I survived,' he said.

Gardinier and a few of the villagers had gathered a few yards away.

'How can we thank you, Monsieurs?'

One of the women stepped towards d'Artagnan, 'we can start by getting that blood stain out of your doublet,' she said as she ushered him away, 'and you need to wash that stuff off your face.'

'That was inspired by the way,' said Porthos, turning to Aramis who was busy brushing the dust from his clothes.

'What?'

'Using oil to make him look sweaty.'

Aramis grinned, 'did it once as a child to get out of chores.'

Athos, who had spent a few minutes talking to Gardinier, turned back to them.

'We will stay a few more hours to be certain they have gone,' he said.

Athos paused looking at Aramis with a frown.

'What?'

He reached out and pulled at the sleeve of Aramis' doublet, pointing out a rip in the fabric.

'Was that there before?'

'No,' replied Aramis looked towards Porthos.

'I...er...perhaps got a little close with that shot.'

'A little?'

Aramis raised his eyebrows at Porthos.

Porthos sighed, 'I didn't actually hit you, perhaps you moved at the last second, you were supposed to be keeping still.'

'Next time, you get to be the victim and we'll see how still you can be.'

The End.


	29. Seizures

Chapter Twenty Nine - Seizure

 **With d'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos and Aramis**

Porthos was not a man who was easily shocked. But he could not hide the shock at the scene in front of him. He knew his brothers would feel the same. What they were witnessing was abhorrent.

The little blonde girl could not have been more than six years old. Her small frame did not look strong, she was very slight, almost malnourished. And she looked terrified. Which was not surprising given that she was about to be hanged.

As the Musketeers had approached the village they could see the crowd of people, it had become apparent that an execution was about to take place, the noose strung up over a stout tree branch all that was needed to tell them. Much as they did not like to witness such things they knew they should not interfere.

Athos had dug his heels in first when he saw the small child being put on the back of the cart the noose slipped around her neck. Aramis had fired his gun in the air to get the crowd's attention and stop what was about to happen. The men and women looked around at them. The little girl looked as though she was going to collapse, her shaking visible even from several yards away. She may have been very young, but it was obvious she knew what was happening.

Porthos dismounted, throwing the reins to d'Artagnan. He was joined by Aramis pushing themselves through the crowd. Aramis jumped up onto the back of the cart and glared at the man who was holding onto the little girl. The man backed off. Porthos reached up and steadied the child as Aramis slipped the noose off her head. She slumped slightly, but Porthos caught her pulling her close to him protectively. Aramis reloaded his gun as he continued to stare at the people around them.

Athos and d'Artagnan had found the landowner. Porthos could see that Athos was ready for a confrontation.

'What's the meaning of this, you can't stop me from my judicial rights,' said the landowner, an older man wearing a pale green doublet.

'What can this child possibly have done to warrant her execution.'

'Witch!' shouted one of the villagers.

Porthos shook his head angrily, he glanced up at Aramis who looked equally angry. The small-minded people who influenced the many were a scourge on society. The villagers had been fed some half-truths at some point and now believed them without question.

'She is possessed by the devil. We have seen her commune with evil.'

'She's a child,' said Athos, 'where are her parents?'

The landowner glanced around clearly unsure of the answer.

A plump woman stepped forward, 'her mother died in childbirth. The witch was working even then. No one knows who her father is.'

'The devil,' shouted another woman.

A couple of people stepped towards the little girl who had buried her face in Porthos shoulder. She was still shaking and sobbing quietly. Porthos whispered to her that she would be safe now. He would not let them touch her. Aramis had both his guns drawn and aimed vaguely at the villagers.

'Perhaps we could discuss this, Monsieur,' said Athos using his most commanding tone.

The landowner looked at Athos for a few seconds before nodding and turning to enter the building behind him; a small church. Athos and d'Artagnan followed the man. Several of the villagers crowded around the door to the church while other remained watching Aramis, Porthos, and the little girl carefully.

MMMM

The hostile crowd did not understand what they were doing. Aramis continued to watch them swinging his guns slowly across them. He knew that Porthos and he would not stand a chance if the villagers decided to rush forward, hopefully, they would stay back long enough for Athos to sort the matter out. He knew they would not be leaving the little girl to her fate. One way or another she would be leaving with them. They could not leave the little girl where she was, even if her sentence was overturned she was an orphan and viewed with suspicion. Aramis wondered how she had survived on her own. A villager must have taken her in when her mother died, but they were not making themselves known. The little girl was all alone.

A couple of men took a step towards Porthos who turned himself slightly, shielding the girl in his arms. Aramis aimed one gun at the men.

'Back off,' he said firmly.

The men stared at him.

'She needs to be got rid off. We had a bad harvest 'cos of that.'

One of them men spat at the little girl who clung tightly to Porthos.

'She did not affect your harvest,' said Porthos, 'the harvest was bad for everyone this year. How could this little girl make a difference to your crops?'

An older woman called out, 'she's the devil, we've seen it. Her eyes go white and she goes rigid. Evil!'

Several of the women joined in calling the girl evil. The situation was getting out of hand. Aramis glanced towards the church wondering how long Athos and d'Artagnan would be.

As he looked back towards the crowd he just had time to duck down as a rock was thrown at them. Porthos had not been so lucky. A second rock hit him on the back of the shoulder, but the Musketeer held his own, continuing to talk to the child quietly. He glanced up at Aramis and nodded that he was alright. It would take more than a rock to affect Porthos.

The crowd, which were more of an angry mob were starting to grow in confidence. Aramis moved to the edge of the cart. He was about to jump down to offer more protection for the child when Porthos looked up at him shocked.

The little girl had thrown her head back, her limbs had stiffened, and she was shaking. Aramis recognised the signs of a seizure. He had seen people in the asylum suffer. Most had no recollection afterwards that they had suffered from anything.

He remembered talking to a forward-thinking physician about the seizures. The doctor had said that most of the people who suffered from the boats of stiffness and shaking led perfectly normal lives otherwise, but they were not understood by other people and were often persecuted if found by others.

'She talks to the devil, get back…' shouted someone from the crowd.

'Kill her now,' shouted a man who rushed forward with a knife raised high in the air.

Aramis jumped off the cart and put himself in the way of the man. The man tried to push passed but Aramis easily pushed him back. The few seconds distraction meant that Porthos was forced to fight off another man on his own, whilst trying to keep hold of the fitting girl.

Aramis managed to push the man off Porthos but was not quick enough to prevent a third man from punching him across the face causing him to stumble back into the cart.

Their situation was getting worse.

MMMM

Athos followed the landowner into the church. A few other older men accompanied him. D'Artagnan stationed himself by the door watching the crowd, ready to signal if Porthos and Aramis had issues.

'Your name, monsieur?' asked Athos.

'Lambert,' replied the man, 'my family have owned this land for generations and I say that child should die. She is a witch and has-'

Athos spoke over the man, 'are you expecting me to believe that you, an educated man, believe that a child could be a witch. A witch. Listen to yourself man. You sound ridiculous.'

'But...the crops...she...talks to the devil.'

Athos rolled his eyes, 'the season was bad, the weather was not kind to any farmer. You cannot blame that on one little girl.'

He glanced back as he heard shouts from outside. He knew the situation was fraught and needed to be handled quickly but without causing panic.

Lambert was looked indecisive. Athos got the impression he was letting the execution go ahead to appease his tenants.

'Monsieur, let us take the girl with us, back to Paris. She can be dealt with there. Surely you would rather that than see a child hanged in your village?'

Again, Lambert looked indecisive. Athos hoped his ploy would work. If they could take the girl away peacefully it would be better for all concerned. But he was adamant that they would be leaving with the girl, by force if necessary.

'But the crops…'

More angry shouting from outside caused Athos to turn to d'Artagnan. The Musketeer looked back at him and shook his head.

'We can't wait any longer,' d'Artagnan said as he pulled his gun from his belt and stepped out of the church.

Athos joined him after shaking his head at Lambert. The angry villagers were closing in on Porthos and Aramis. From what Athos could tell the two men had already been attacked once, Aramis had a trickle of blood above his eye and a blossoming bruise.

The child in Porthos arms looked as though she was struggling. She had her head back and was shaking.

'She's fitting,' said d'Artagnan, 'they think that she's a witch because she's ill.'

MMMM

Aramis hated to do it, but he pulled his sword, forcing the people back with the tip of his blade. Porthos had been forced to lay the girl down on the back of the cart, he was keeping her as safe as he could, trying to stop her from causing harm to herself as she shook. Porthos had his back to the crowd, trying to keep himself between them and the little girl.

Aramis was on his own in keeping the crowd back. The blow to his head had left him a little disoriented but it was nothing he could not handle, he was fairly sure he was bleeding and hoped it would not need stitches, now was not the time for one of them to be put out of commission.

'Can't they tell she's ill?' asked Porthos, his voice more of a growl.

'They've probably not seen it before, small village like this,' replied Aramis as he pushed his blade forward a little as a man got too close.

Aramis guessed Porthos had known people with similar illnesses in the Court of Miracles. Anyone suffering as the little girl was might have been spurned by others.

'Kill her!'

'Get back!' yelled Aramis as he resorted to pushing a couple of men away again.

'We can't keep this up,' said Porthos as he gathered the girl in his arms again.

She had stopped fitting but fallen unconscious.

A gunshot from the direction of the church was a welcome distraction.

MMMM

Employing the same tactic that Aramis had used earlier, d'Artagnan fired his gun over the heads of the baying mob. It was clear Porthos and Aramis could not keep the men and women of the village away from the girl. Aramis was injured and Porthos was restricted in his movements by holding the girl in his arms.

The people reacted to the gunshot, some ducked down, some looked around in shock. Aramis and Porthos moved fast. Porthos carried the girl away with Aramis backing away keeping the villagers at bay, his sword and gun still drawn.

D'Artagnan quickly reloaded his own gun as Athos pointed his at the villagers. They skirted around towards the horses. Porthos had handed the still unconscious girl to Aramis as he quickly mounted up.

Athos grabbed d'Artagnan's sleeve and led him towards the horses. D'Artagnan reloaded as they walked. Porthos was settled on his horse with the unconscious girl sat in front of him, Aramis had pulled himself onto his horse, his gun again aimed at the villagers.

D'Artagnan quickly mounted up while Athos turned back towards the landowner who had followed them.

'Do not follow us. We will take her away...with luck, your crops will be fine next year.'

Athos dripped sarcasm as he spoke.

A few of the men started to move forward. Aramis and d'Artagnan walked their horses forward a few paces putting themselves in front of Porthos and the girl. Athos nodded to Porthos who turned his horse and pushed the beast away from the village. One of the men reached Athos who pushed him back hard before turning and grabbing the reins from d'Artagnan who continued to aim his guns at the people as Athos mounted up.

D'Artagnan watched a few of the men at the back of the crowd talking to each other. They were watching the retreating Musketeers carefully as they edged towards some saddled horses a few yards from them.

'We need to move, quickly,' said d'Artagnan indicating the men.

'I know,' replied Athos as he turned his horse, 'let's get some distance between us and the village.'

MMMM

Porthos kept as tight a hold on the girl as he could without hurting her. They had pushed the horses as fast as they could for a long as they could. Athos had eventually slowed his horse, the others followed suit.

'I think she's starting to come around,' said Porthos as the little girl moved slightly.

'Let's get off the road, I think there's a stream a couple of hundred yards into the woods here,' said d'Artagnan.

Porthos nodded as he steered his mount after d'Artagnan. He glanced back and saw Athos turn to Aramis.

'Is that causing you problems,' he asked glancing at the cut to Aramis' head that was still bleeding sluggishly.

'No, but I wouldn't mind washing the blood off,' replied Aramis.

They reached the stream, d'Artagnan reached up to take the girl from Porthos while he dismounted. Aramis was about to step forward but Porthos shook his head.

'You would scare her at the moment, go and wash the blood off and get a bandage on that cut. I'm sure we can look after her for five minutes.'

Aramis pretended to be hurt but smiled as he walked away, pulling his gloves off as he went.

'I wonder if the seizures are a new thing? I doubt she would have survived long if she had suffered since she was a baby,' said d'Artagnan as he helped Porthos to arrange the girl to lie on his cloak, folding over one end to form a pillow.

'I think I know where we should take her,' said Aramis as he splashed water over his face.

Porthos looked up, 'where?'

'There's a convent not far from here, they take in orphans.'

Porthos smiled, the quiet contemplative life in a convent would probably suit the little girl. She had probably been through a lot since she became ill.

Aramis knelt beside the girl and gently felt her head and body for injuries. Porthos smirked when Athos pulled the medic back so that he could wrap a bandage around the cut to his head.

'What about your back, you took quite a blow from that rock,' said Aramis.

Porthos rolled his shoulder wincing slightly, 'just bruises,' he said.

The little girl moaned slightly and opened her eyes. She looked at them, the expression on her face a little concerned. She stared at Porthos for a few seconds before smiling.

'I think she likes you,' said Aramis.

The little girl looked at Aramis for a few seconds.

'Sorry,' she said, her voice small.

'For what?' asked d'Artagnan.

'The people were horrible to them when they were helping me.'

'You remember that?' said Porthos as he helped the little girl to sit up.

She looked around for a few seconds.

'Where are we going?'

'Is there somewhere you would like to go?' asked Athos, who had crouched in front of her.

The little girl shrugged her shoulders.

'I know a place that is quiet and has some other children like you, ones that don't have anyone else. Would you like to go there?' asked Aramis.

The girl thought for a moment before nodding with a smile.

Porthos found it hard to believe that the terrified child from a couple of hours before was now smiling and seemed at ease. She still looked a little unfocused, no doubt the effects of the seizure and the escape would stay with her for a while.

'Rest for a while,' said Athos before rising and walking towards the stream.

'What's your name?' asked Porthos.

'Suzette,' said the little girl with a yawn.

'Try to sleep for a little bit,' said Aramis, 'we aren't going anywhere. You're safe now.'

Suzette nodded before looking at Porthos and moving over to lean on him. Porthos smiled as he wrapped his arms around her. He guessed she felt safe near him. The contact perhaps something she had not experienced for a while. Suzette was asleep in minutes.

The End.


	30. Care Giver

Chapter Thirty - Caregiver

 **Aramis (with Queen Anne and the Dauphin)**

Louis walked ahead of his mother. They had escaped from everyone else and were exploring. Louis liked exploring. He loved the Palace, it was big with plenty of hiding places but there was always someone nearby. But out here, in the gardens, they could find places where there was no one else.

He skipped ahead, being careful not to go out of his mother's sight. She would call out to him if she could not see him and that would draw the attention of the guards. Louis did not want anyone else around today. He did not want to be important today. His father always told him he was very important and had to be kept safe. But today Louis was enjoying the freedom. His father was away. When his father was away his mother seemed happier and let him run around; as long as she could see him.

Louis kept walking, looking around when he heard the cackling call of a bird, but he could not see the bird, perhaps he could search for it? A muttered curse made him look ahead again. Louis always pretended he did not hear his father cursing and never said such words himself. His mother told him off once for cursing and Louis did not like to upset his mother.

The rose bushes were moving. Louis had worked out what had happened before he rounded the corner of a neat hedge to fully see the bushes. Someone had become caught on the thorns. It had happened to him once. His mother had told him he was naughty for trying to get through the bushes, but she had also told him he was very brave for not crying as she untangled him.

One of the soldiers, with his back to him, was trying to peel a branch off his sleeve. Louis could see that the man had already pulled the thorny branches off his doublet, but had somehow still managed to get caught on the sleeve and hand.

Louis stood and watched for a few seconds until he was aware of his mother having caught him up.

'What is the matter Louis?' she asked as she stopped next to him.

He pointed forwards as the man caught in the rose bush turned around, yelping as he did so. The action of turning quickly pulled the thorns from his sleeve but also cut across his wrist and hand in the process. Louis screwed up his face imagining how much it must have hurt the soldier as the prickly thorns scratched across his hand.

The soldier, a Musketeer Louis realised, looked shocked. He quickly bowed, trying to hide his now bleeding hand behind his back.

'He's hurt, mama,' said Louis quietly.

His mother looked shocked. She did not say anything, merely stared at the man in front of them.

'Then we should help him,' she said after a few seconds.

'Majesty,' said the Musketeer, 'there's no need.'

The Musketeer took a couple of steps backwards, almost back into the rose bush. Louis giggled.

'You'll get stuck again,' he said.

The soldier glanced behind before taking a step forward. Louis watched as his mother closed the gap between them and reached out, taking the Musketeers hand in hers and inspected the injury.

'Louis, you know Aramis...he's one of the bravest Musketeers.'

Louis walked forward and stopped in front of the two grown-ups.

'Why were you trying to get through the rose bush?'

Aramis looked down at him for a few seconds. Louis could not work out what sort of expression the man had, it reminded him of the way his mother looked at him. But his father never looked at him in quite the same way.

'We've had reports of a man hanging around the outside of the palace grounds. I've been checking for any possible ways for a man to get through to the gardens.'

'And did you find any? Are we safe?' asked his mother looking around as she spoke.

Aramis looked at his hand for a few seconds before replying, 'I'm sure no one is going to get in through here.'

Louis saw that the scratches to Aramis' hand were deep and still bleeding. He knew that bleeding was not a good thing. He had once slipped into the physician's rooms and hidden behind a curtain watching as the doctor had bandaged up a cut to the hand of one of the kitchen staff. Louis knew what he had to do.

He reached up and took Aramis' hand from his mother and pulled out his handkerchief. The handkerchief was clean, he had not needed it that day. Louis carefully wrapped the square of white silk around Aramis' hand, covering the worst of the scratches. He glanced up and saw that Aramis was looking at his mother. They were looking at each other in the same way that his mother looked at him. In the same way that Aramis had looked at him a few minutes ago. He decided he liked the expression. He wished his father used it.

'Thank you, Majesty,' said Aramis when Louis had tied the handkerchief firmly. 'I'm not sure I will be able to return your handkerchief.'

Louis looked up, 'that's alright, Aramis,' he said, 'I have plenty of others.'

His mother was trying to hide a smile. Louis did not understand grown-ups.

He decided he did not want to.

Aramis bowed to them both and said, 'I shall continue my search for any potential gaps in the perimeter...and if I have any more problems...I'll know where to come.'

Aramis smiled at Louis, who smiled back. His mother rested her hand on his shoulder as Aramis walked past them. Louis saw his mother watch Aramis go. It was not until the Musketeer was out of sight that she turned her attention back to him.

'We had better get you another handkerchief,' she said, 'you never know when you might need one.'

Louis thought that was a good idea.

The End.


	31. Showdown

Chapter Thirty One - Showdown

 **D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos and Aramis**

 **Authors note: Remember Chapter Three; 'Insomnia'? This is the prequel...**

They had the intelligence, it should have been a simple case of sneaking out again and returning to the garrison; early enough to then visit a tavern. The simple plan had not worked. Athos glanced around the room as he pushed the man in front of him away and drew his sword.

They were fighting a number of men, Athos could not count them, but it was enough to be keeping them all busy. The room they were fighting in was not big enough for all the opponents to take them on safely, Athos had seen at least two, maybe three more at the doorway, waiting for an opening in the melee to join the action.

The two men in front of him were good. The trained fighters were however not expecting the Musketeer to use anything and everything to aid his fight. Athos had already grabbed a bottle of wine from the table and thrown it at the men, he was now working his way over to the hearth to grab a bucket of wood to chuck at the sneering man in front of him.

They were outnumbered but Athos was sure they would win. Although he doubted they would win without a cost to themselves, Athos hoped that cost would not be too high.

MMMM

Porthos could not help the cry of pain as the man's parrying dagger sliced his arm. The wound was deep and would quickly slow him down. But there was no chance for him to rest. His brothers were all engaged in their own battles. He could not simply let the man in front of him move on to attacking them. Whoever they picked on would be quickly overwhelmed, they were all good, but each man had a limit.

Aramis was busy with an accomplished swordsman who was making the lithe man dance out of the way, a second man was giving his brother little chance to take out the first.

Athos also had two men who were on the receiving end of whatever was coming to the hand of the swordsman. Broken glass lay at their feet and an upended chair appeared to have caused one of the men to now be holding his arm across his chest.

As Porthos continued to fight back, one-handed at his own opponent he was aware of d'Artagnan shoving one of his own attackers into the other earning him a moment's reprieve. In the same instance, the distracted man in front of him left himself open for an attack. Porthos sliced the man with his main gauche. As the man collapsed d'Artagnan grabbed Porthos by the shoulder and pulled him back.

'Cover us,' he yelled, 'shoot them.'

Porthos knew d'Artagnan was right, he had limited movement in this right arm, but he could still load and fire a gun. His left-handed shooting was not as accurate, but he was still likely to be better than any of the men now fighting them.

D'Artagnan was forced back into the affray as the men he was fighting had regrouped and were ready for another attack.

Porthos, his gun already loaded, looked to the doorway aimed and fired, taking out one of the men who was about to enter the room. As he quickly reloaded he glanced back up at the doorway and saw the men there glaring at him. Porthos thought that perhaps the move was a little underhand, but he did not care, the man he had killed had been about to enter and attack him and his brothers.

His attention was drawn to Aramis whose opponents had managed to work together to get the Musketeer on the floor. With no time to raise his sword or do anything to defend himself from his prone position, Aramis was vulnerable. The two men stepped in for the kill.

Porthos raised his gun again, he fired, hitting the bigger man in the side of the head. The man stumbled to the side taking the other man to the ground with him. The moments' pause gave Aramis all the time he needed to climb to his feet. It was obvious to Porthos that Aramis was injured, but not to the extent that it would stop the man from continuing to fight. Aramis nodded his thanks to Porthos before raising his sword and returning to the fight.

MMMM

When the two men had managed to trip him to the floor Aramis had felt foolish. To allow the men to pull off such a move annoyed him. He hoped none of his brothers had noticed how they had got him on the floor, he knew he would never hear the end of it. The bigger opponent had simply grabbed him and tripped him. Aramis had not been expecting the move, he had landed heavily, his ankle had been twisted in the fall. The two men stepped forward. Aramis knew he stood no chance until a gunshot rang out. The bigger man had stumbled into the second giving Aramis the moment he needed.

Getting to his feet was easy enough but bearing weight on the injured limb was another matter. But he had little choice, Aramis gritted his teeth and carried on, he could worry about the pain later.

The second man had managed to extract himself from the now dead opponent. But Aramis was quick to bring his sword forward and thrust at the man. Before the dying man had hit the floor, Aramis was looking around the room. Two more men were making their way towards Athos who had managed to take out two men but still had an opponent in front of him.

MMMM

D'Artagnan realised he had been lucky. Had been. He had managed to take two men out of the fight relatively easily, he must have somehow ended up with the weaker opponents. He had been vaguely aware of Aramis ending up on the ground and knew that Porthos had been injured. He had avoided the attackers for most of the fight. But his luck had run out and one of the men had managed to hit him across the back causing him to crash to the ground. The pain radiated out from his shoulder. He knew he was not going to suffer from any more than bruising and a headache, but the injury was debilitating enough.

From his position on the floor trying to get up, d'Artagnan realised one of the men had stepped up to the side of him. He guessed the man intended to simply plunge his sword into his back. But the pain did not come. Instead, the man collapsed to the floor next to him. D'Artagnan managed to push himself on to his side and looked up in time to see Porthos, smack another man in the head with the butt of his gun.

Porthos leaned down holding out his hand. D'Artagnan used the help to get back to his feet. Across the room, Aramis, who was moving as little as possible was helping Athos who had been shoved into a table. Between the two of them, they were able to finish off the last two men.

All four Musketeers looked at the doorway for a few seconds. Each man was breathing hard. D'Artagnan hoped there would not be any more fighting, his shoulder radiated pain, he was unsure he could wield a sword accurately. Porthos and Aramis were both obviously injured, and Athos looked as though he may have injured ribs after his altercation with the table.

After a few seconds, they looked at each other.

'Let's get back to the garrison,' said Porthos, 'not sure I'm gonna stay standing for much longer.'

MMMM

A muttered curse and soft hiss of pain followed by a quiet admonishment drew his attention to the garrison gate.

Treville took a few steps towards the gate. The two guards took a step towards the men as they walked passed. D'Artagnan waved them away. Treville hid a smile. His four best men did not need help, they were there for each other.

Aramis swore again with Athos telling him, probably not for the first time, not to put weight on his ankle. The marksman was being helped across the yard by Athos who was grimacing in pain as he walked and d'Artagnan who did not look to be in much better shape. Porthos was bringing up the rear, holding his left hand firmly over a bleeding injury to his right arm.

Athos looked across to Treville and extracted himself from Aramis who reluctantly accepted Porthos' shoulder to assist him towards the infirmary.

Athos stopped in front of Treville and pulled some papers from his doublet handing them over.

'They are all there,' said the swordsman.

'Thank you,' replied Treville, 'do you need assistance in there?'

Treville nodded towards the infirmary where d'Artagnan had guided Aramis and Porthos.

'I think we will be fine. Once I have strapped up Aramis' ankle he can deal with Porthos' wound. D'Artagnan and I are only bruised as far as I can tell. Some pain draughts and rest will see us all well.'

Treville smiled, 'you know where I am. I don't want to see any of you at muster in the morning. I'll have some food sent over in a while.'

Athos nodded before turning to follow his brothers into the infirmary. Treville watched him go before glancing at the papers he now held. The hard-won papers. He guessed he was lucky to have got all four of his men back more or less in one piece.

He watched them through the infirmary windows. Athos had pushed Aramis into a chair while d'Artagnan was helping Porthos out of his doublet.

Aramis tried to stifle a cry of pain as Athos pulled his boot off. D'Artagnan quickly moved to Aramis' side and held his shoulders for a few seconds until the man had managed to calm himself. Treville smiled as he watched Athos apologies and Aramis indicate it was nothing.

As Athos strapped Aramis' ankle, the medic was directing d'Artagnan to prepare painkilling draughts for them all. Porthos complained but took the drink before he lay back on the bed and allowed d'Artagnan to clean the wound to his arm.

Aramis spent a bit of time dealing with the bruising to Athos and d'Artagnan before all three began to work on Porthos' wound. They worked together. Porthos tried not to react, d'Artagnan and Athos held the injured man still and Aramis stitched.

Treville could not hear the conversations that were going on in the infirmary, but he knew that his men would be offering reassurance to each other. The four would be eager to get back to work, probably before they really were fit enough and Treville knew he would have to sternly tell them off for trying. But he also knew they would not change.

And he did not want them to.

The End.

 **Authors note: Thank you all for your comments, they are always very much welcomed, even if I'm a bit rubbish at replying to you all. I've noted which stories you want to be expanded and already have very rough outlines for a couple and will get round to them all eventually.**

 **I hope you enjoyed these stories as much as I enjoyed writing them. Em.**


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